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( acoelor>/    ^l-Ja^^. 


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I    I.OVE    THE    MAN 


[See  p.  27C. 


THE 

PROUD  PRINCE 


BY 
lUSTIN   HUNTLY  McCARTHY 

Ml 

AUTHOR   OF 

"MARJORiE"  "IK  I  WERE  KING" 

ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

R.    H.    RUSSELL 

1903 


CTopyright,  1903,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

Al^  rights  reserved. 

Published  October,  1903. 


DEDICATED 
TO 

E.    H.    SOTHERN 


CONTEISITS 

CHAPTER  I'AGB 

I.  Fair  Maid  and  Foul  Foot i 

II.  Thz  Coming  of  the  King 2S 

III.  Robert  of  Sicily 4f> 

IV.  The  Hunter 7' 

V.  Lycabetta 89 

YI.  The  Archangel 99 

VII.  Discrowned,   Dishonored iiS 

VIII.  Pagan  and  Christian 128 

IX.  The  Lily  of  Sicily 15° 

X.  The  Two  Voices 164 

XI.  Glamour i77 

XII.  In  Syracuse i94 

XIII.  The  Church  by  the  Sea 201 

XIV.  The  Exiles 213 

XV.  The  Hunter's  Voice 223 

XVI.  The  Call  of  the  Bell 232 

XVII.  In  the  Arena 247 

XVIII.  Ordeal  of  Battle 264 

XIX.  Robert  the  Righteous 271 

V 


THE   PROUD   PRINCE 

I 

FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

The  girl  stood  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  looking 
down  the  white  highway  that  stretched  to  Syra- 
cuse. The  morning  sun  shone  hotly  ;  sky  and 
sea  and  earth  seemed  to  kindle  and  quicken  in 
the  ecstasy  of  heat,  setting  free  spirits  of  air  and 
earth  and  water,  towards  whom  the  girl's  spirit 
stirred  in  sympathy.  All  about  her  beauty  flamed 
luxuriant.  At  her  feet  the  secrets  of  the  world 
were  written  in  wild  flowers,  the  wild  flowers  of 
Sicily,  which  redeem  the  honor  of  the  wellnigh 
flow^erless  land  of  Greece.  All  about  her  the 
ground  flushed  with  such  color  as  never  yet  was 
woven  on  a  Persian  loom  or  blended  in  a  wizard's 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

diadem.  The  gold  and  silver  of  great  daisies 
gleamed  in  the  grass;  pimpernel  blue  and  red, 
mallow  red  and  white,  yellow  spurge  and  green 
mignonette,  blue  borage  and  pink  asphodel  and 
parti-colored  convolvulus,  snap-dragon  and  mari- 
gold, violet  and  dandelion,  and  that  crimson 
flower  which  shepherds  call  Pig's  Face  and  poets 
call  Beard  of  Jove  for  its  golden  change  in  autumn 
— all  these  and  a  thousand  other  children  of  the 
spring  lay  at  the  girl's  feet  and  carpeted  her 
kingdom.  But  the  girl  w^as  more  beautiful  than 
all  the  flowers. 

The  spot  where  the  girl  stood  was  as  fair  a 
spot  as  any  in  Sicily.  Behind  her  on  the  fringe 
of  the  thick  mountain  pine-wood  the  blue  tiled 
dome  of  a  Saracenic  mosque  glowed  like  a  great 
turquoise  in  the  midst  of  the  amber -tinted  pillars 
of  a  ruined  Grecian  temple.  In  front  of  her,  on 
a  little  hill,  stood  the  beautiful  Norman  church 
that  Robert  the  King  had  erected  there  on  the 
highest  point  of  his  kingdom  in  gratitude  for 
his  son's  recovery  from  sickness,  a  miracle  of 
austere  strength  and  comeliness,  with  its  great 
bronze   image  in  a  niche  by  the  door   of   the 

2 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

Archangel  Michael,  all  armored,  with  his  hands 
resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  drawn  sword.  Below 
her  lay  all  the  splendor  of  Syracuse,  the  island 
town,  the  smiling  bay  where  the  Athenian  galleys 
had  been  snared  more  than  fifteen  hundred  years 
before,  the  quarries  where  the  flower  of  Athenian 
chivalry  had  died  its  dreadful  death,  the  sapphire 
sea  that  sang  its  secrets  to  Theocritus.  In  all 
Sicily  there  was  no  lovelier  spot,  no  fairer  prospect. 
But  the  girl  was  more  beautiful  than  the  place 
whereon  she  stood  or  the  sights  on  which  she 
gazed. 

If  the  spirit  of  Theocritus,  coming  from  the 
fields  where  Virgil  lingered  unaware  of  Dante, 
could  have  revisited  his  much-loved  Syracuse,  the 
poet  of  Berenice  would  have  found  that  the  island 
of  Aphrodite  still  bore  women  worthy  of  the 
goddess.  The  girl  was  tall  and  straight  and 
slim;  health  and  youth  gave  their  warm  color 
to  her  cheeks;  the  old  Greek  beauty  reigned  in 
her  face,  but  her  blue  eyes  shone  with  the  bright- 
ness of  Oriental  stars.  Her  red  hair,  wine  red, 
blood  red,  framed  her  face  with  amazing  color. 
Something  of  the  composition  of  the  woodland 

3 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

entered  into  the  hues  of  the  garments  she  wore, 
the  simple  garments  of  a  country  girl,  but  shaped 
of  stuffs  that  were  dyed  warm  reds  and  browns, 
the  red  of  forest  fires,  the  brown  of  forest  trees. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  child,  conscious  of  the  strange 
loveliness  of  her  red  hair,  sought  to  harmonize  her 
very  habit  to  its  fierce  assertion.  Yet  there  was 
no  fierceness  in  the  face  that  the  red  hair  crowned 
so  radiantly.  If  it  carried  the  Grecian  beauty, 
it  carried  also  the  Grecian  calm,  the  noble  repose 
of  the  Grecian  image  that  once  had  stood  in  the 
splendid  temple  whose  ruined  pillars  now  girdled 
ironically  the  ruined  Moslem  mosque.  Two  civ- 
ilizations had  withered  in  Sicily  to  afford  a  shelter 
for  Perpetua,  the  daughter  of  Theron,  the  execu- 
tioner of  Syracuse. 

Perpetua,  daughter  of  Theron  the  executioner 
of  Syracuse,  waiting  for  the  coming  of  Theron 
the  executioner,  looked  with  calm  eyes  upon 
Syracuse,  upon  the  distant  city  of  which  she  knew 
no  more  in  all  her  eighteen  years  of  life  than  that 
same  distant  vision,  a  jewel  city  lying  in  orchards 
at  her  feet.  She  had  no  desire  to  know  more  of 
it;  her  father  wished  that  she  should  know  no 

4 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

more  of  it,  and  she  was  content,  for  Theron  the 
executioner  was  the  wisest  man  in  the  world, 
wiser  than  the  few  priests  who  tended  the  chapel 
on  the  hill,  wiser  than  the  few  country  folk  who 
sometimes  climbed  to  those  heights  and  seemed 
to  fear  the  executioner  and  the  executioner's  hut 
and  the  executioner's  daughter,  the  white  girl 
with  the  hair  that  was  red  as  blood.  These  were 
all  the  men  she  knew;  these  made  the  world,  the 
outer  world,  for  her.  Her  real  world  was  where 
her  father  was  with  his  tales  of  gods  and  heroes, 
and  his  ancient  songs  and  his  great  sword.  It 
was  her  task,  self-chosen  and  rich  in  pride,  to 
tend  the  great  sword,  to  keep  it  stainless,  to 
sharpen  its  edge  on  the  grindstone  while  she 
sang  the  Song  of  the  Sword,  and  the  sparks  flew 
and  the  great  sword  seemed  to  gleam  with  an 
answering  fervor.  But  never  in  all  the  days  cf 
her  young  life  had  blood  to  be  washed  from  the 
sword.  For  Sicily  smiled  under  the  sway  of 
King  Robert  the  Good,  who  had  no  need  for 
executioners. 

But  the  father  went  sometimes  into  the  city, 
where  the  girl  never  went,  and  then  the  hours 

5 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

seemed  long  to  the  girl,  and  she  often  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  moimtain  and  gazed  down  the  white 
ribbon  of  winding  road  for  the  earliest  glimpse  of 
the  dear,  familiar  figure,  toilsomely  ascending. 
To-day  the  hoiirs  seemed  longer  than  ever,  for 
there  was  the  shadow  of  a  secret  over  the  child's 
soiil,  and  she  sighed  for  her  father's  presence, 
that  she  might  tell  him  the  secret  and  be  free  of  it, 
though  she  knew  very  well  in  her  heart  that  when 
her  father  was  by  her  side  she  would  still  stifle 
her  secret.  A  little  secret,  indeed,  a  laughable 
secret,  for  those  down  there  in  Syracuse,  at  the 
foot  of  the  moimtain,  who  took  the  world  for 
what  it  was,  but  a  great  one  to  the  soul  of  a 
girl  who  had  lived  all  her  life  on  the  top  of  a 
mountain  in  a  dwelling  whose  roof  was  the  crest 
of  a  Moslem  mosque,  and  whose  garden  palings 
were  the  pillars  of  a  temple  of  Aphrodite;  a  girl 
who  took  the  world  for  what  it  was  not  and  for 
what  it  coiild  never  be. 

The  white  road  was  as  empty  as  a  noon-day 
dream ;  its  whiteness  only  troubled  by  one  moving 
object,  as  noon-day  dreams  are  often  troubled  by 
one  persistent,  inappreciable  idea.     But  the  girl 

6 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

had  eyes  as  keen  as  a  mountain-eagle,  and  she 
knew  that,  whoever  the  climber  was,  the  climber 
was  not  her  father.  Then  she  sighed  a  little 
sigh  and  turned  and  entered  her  dwelling  and 
drew  the  door  behind  her,  and  the  mountain-top 
was  lonely  for  a  time.  Only  for  a  time.  Up  the 
hill  came  a  fantastical  fellow,  alternately  singing 
and  sighing,  for  it  seemed  that  the  fierce  heat 
vexed  him  despite  of  his  melody.  He  was  a 
strange  ape,  tall  and  lean  and  withered,  with  a 
wry  shoulder  like  a  gibbous  moon  and  a  wry  leg 
like  a  stricken  tree,  and  his  face  was  as  the  face 
of  a  goblin,  with  a  long,  peaked  nose,  and  loose, 
protruding  lips,  traitors  to  the  few  and  evil  teeth 
that  interwalled  his  livid  gums,  and  his  ears  stood 
out  like  bats'  wings  from  his  yellow,  wrinkled 
cheeks.  He  was  visibly  punished  by  his  journey; 
the  sweat  streamed  from  his  leather  and  under  his 
puckered  eyelids  his  eyes  flamed  imprecations. 
His  grotesque  body  was  enveloped  in  yet  more 
grotesque  apparel — the  piebald  of  the  buffoon, 
the  mottled  livery  of  the  chartered  mountebank. 
There  was  a  slender  collar  of  gold  about  his  neck, 
on  which  those  that  were  near  enough  to  him 

7 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

and  had  quick  sight  might  read  in  plain  terms 
that  he  was  a  royal  fool,  one  of  those  jesters  whom 
the  great  loved  to  tend  to  their  beck,  that  they 
might  ply  them  with  mirth  in  hours  that  were 
mirthless.  When  the  fantastical  fellow  had  reach- 
ed the  summit  he  flung  himself  at  once  onto  the 
nearest  seat  that  one  of  the  fallen  columns  afford- 
ed, and  sat  for  a  space  gasping  and  puffing  and 
spitting  out  blasphemies  between  every  gasp  and 
puff  of  his  staggered  anatomy. 

When  his  wind  came  to  him  it  took  shape  in  a 
furious  soliloquy,  addressed  to  the  vacant  space 
about.  "  Devil  take  the  day  !"  he  grunted,  press- 
ing his  hands  to  his  lean  sides  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  squeeze  back  the  breath  into  his  jaded  body. 
"The  sun  rides  as  sky-high  as  the  King's  pride, 
and  the  air  blazes  as  dog-hot  as  the  King's  choler. 
I  have  climbed  the  hill-side  to  spite  him,  and  now 
am  like  to  die  of  thirst  to  spite  myself,  unless  I 
can  find  friends  and  flagons." 

So  he  chattered  to  himself  as  if  he  were  con- 
versing with  some  familiar  spirit  or  demon,  and 
as  he  babbled  his  dull  eyes  stared  around  him 
stupidly,  taking  slow  stock  of  unfamiliar  objects. 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

He  grinned  spitefully  at  the  church  and  its  great 
archangel  and  mouthed  a  lewd  objurgation.  Turn- 
ing his  back  on  the  church,  he  leered  at  the  pillars 
and  the  mosque  contemptuously  until  it  dimly 
dawned  upon  him  that  the  ruin  was  now  a  place 
of  human  habitation.  He  rose  with  a  groan  of 
fatigue  and  hobbled  towards  it.  "A  church  is 
no  good,"  he  muttered,  "  but  hospitality  may  hide 
in  that  hovel.  Knock  and  know."  And  having 
by  this  time  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  dwelling, 
he  proceeded  to  rain  a  succession  of  blows  on  it  with 
his  clinched  fists,  as  if  he  were  determined  not  to 
be  denied,  and,  at  worst,  to  force  an  entrance. 

The  fury  of  his  call  was  soon  answered.  Per- 
petua  flung  back  the  door  and  faced  the  insistent 
fool. 

"Is  doom-crack  at  hand,"  she  asked,  quietly, 
as  she  eyed  the  strange  figure  before  her,  "that 
you  hammer  so  hotly?" 

The  misshapen  petitioner  surrendered  some- 
thing of  his  malevolence  to  the  beauty  of  the 
girl.  He  swept  her  a  salutation  that  exaggerated 
courtliness,  and  there  was  a  quality  of  apology 
in  his  voice  as  he  spoke. 

9 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  I  am  sand  dry  as  the  ancient  desert,  and  to  be 
thirsty  roughens  my  temper.  Ply  me  tongue-high 
with  wine  and  I  will  pipe  for  you  blithely." 

Perpetua  shook  her  head,  and  her  red  locks 
gleamed  and  quivered  with  the  motion  like  an 
aureole  of  flame. 

"I  have  no  wine,"  she  said,  gravely,  "for  my 
father  denies  its  virtues.  But  there  is  a  pitcher 
of  milk  within  at  your  pleasure." 

At  the  mention  of  the  word  milk  the  face  of  the 
petitioning  fool,  ugly  enough  when  untroubled  by 
crosses,  took  upon  itself  an  expression  so  hideous 
that  if  the  girl's  spirit  had  ever  permitted  her  to 
recoil  from  any  terror  she  might  have  recoiled 
from  that. 

"Milk!"  he  yelped,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice 
was  as  ugly  as  the  show  of  his  face.  "Milk! 
Gods  of  the  Greeks!  Milk!  Yoirr  father  is  no 
less  than  a  fool  to  favor  such  liquor." 

The  girl's  red  eyebrows  knitted.  "Unless  you 
mend  your  manners,"  she  said,  decisively,  "you 
shall  go  as  thirsty  as  you  came.  You  dare  not 
speak  so  to  my  father's  face." 

The  fool  answered  with  a  little  crackling  laugh, 

lO 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

while  the  wide  sweep  of  his  withered  fingers  seemed 
at  once  to  plead  for  forgiveness  and  to  justify 
impertinence. 

"  Fair  virgin  of  the  heights  and  of  the  hollows," 
he  cackled,  "I  would  speak  so  to  his  face  or  to 
his  foot  or  to  any  part  of  his  honorable  anatomy, 
for,  you  see,  I  am  a  fool  myself,  and  may  pass  the 
crazy  name  without  cuffing.  Come,  I  will  sip 
your  white  syrup  to  please  you." 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  the  sudden 
condescension.  "  Please  yourself .  There  is  water, 
if  you  disdain  milk." 

The  hunchback  twisted  his  pliant  features  into 
a  new  and  peculiarly  repulsive  form  of  protest. 

"Even  as  there  is  the  devil  if  you  escape  from 
the  deep  sea,"  he  sneered.  "  I  begin  to  lust  after 
milk  now." 

The  maiden  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  with 
a  curious  pity  for  his  changing  moods  and  his 
changeless  deformity.  Then  she  turned  and  en- 
tered her  home,  from  which  she  emerged  a  mo- 
ment later  with  a  vessel  of  milk  in  one  hand  and 
a  silver  cup  in  the  other.  She  filled  the  cup  with 
milk  and  handed  it  to  the  fool,  who  took  it  from 

II 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

her  fingers  with  an  ill  grace.  His  spiteful  eyes 
grinned  at  the  white  fluid  malignly,  as  if  what- 
ever it  emblemed  of  purity,  of  simplicity,  ex- 
asperated him.  He  leered  up  again  at  the  girl 
with  the  same  visible  rage  at  her  purity,  her 
simplicity,  and  he  made  a  little  tilting  motion 
with  his  fingers,  as  if  the  devil  in  him  were  minded 
to  dash  the  milk  in  the  maid's  face.  But  her 
indifference  defied  him  and  the  thirst  tugged  at 
his  throat. 

"Water  is  the  drink  of  the  wise,"  the  girl  said, 
steadily.     "But  milk  is  the  wine  of  the  gods." 

She  was  saying  words  that  her  father  often 
said,  and  for  his  sake  they  seemed  very  fair  and 
very  true,  and  she  uttered  them  lovingl3\  To 
the  fool  they  seemed  the  last  frenzy  of  folly.  But 
there  was  nothing  better  to  drink,  and  his  dryness 
yearned  furiously.  He  lifted  the  cup  to  his  lips 
and  sipped  with  a  wry  face.  Then  he  glanced  up 
at  the  girl  slyly. 

"  It  were  but  courteous  to  drink  my  hostess's 
health,  but  I  will  not  pledge  your  ripeness  in  so 
thin-spirited  a  tipple.  Yet  a  malediction  may 
cream  on  it,  so  here's  damnation  to  the  King." 

12 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

And  as  he  spoke  he  drank  again,  and  seemed  to 
drink  with  more  gusto,  but  the  girl  frowned  at  his 
malevolence. 

"The  milk  should  be  sour  that  is  supped  so 
sourly,"  she  said. 

The  grimace  on  the  twisted  face  deepened  into 
a  sneer  as  the  fool  handed  back  the  empty  cup, 
to  be  filled  again. 

"Mistress  Red-head,"  he  said,  "if  you  knew 
the  King  as  well  as  I  know  him  you  would  damn 
him  as  deeply." 

Perpetua's  wide  eyes  watched  the  deformed 
thing  with  wonder.  She  thought  he  must,  indeed, 
be  mad  to  rail  at  the  good  King,  so  she  answered 
him  gently  as  she  gave  him  back  the  full  cuj.). 

"  I  have  lived  on  this  hill-top  all  my  life,  and 
know  little  of  the  world  of  cities  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain.  But  whenever  my  father  speaks 
of  the  King  he  calls  him  Robert  the  Good." 

The  fool  shrugged  his  shoulders — an  action  that 
accentuated  their  deformity;  and  he  chuckled 
awhile  to  himself,  like  a  choking  hen,  while  he 
peered  maliciously  at  the  maiden  through  narrow- 
ed slits  of  eyelids.     When  he  had  savored  sufifi- 

13 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

ciently  whatever  jest  so  moved  him  to  ugly  mirth 
he  spoke  again. 

"Oh,  ay — Robert  the  Good!  But  virtue  is  no 
medicine  for  mortaUty,  so  Robert  the  Good  is 
dead  and  buried  these  six  weeks,  and  Robert  the 
Bad  reigns  in  his  stead,  and  again  I  drink  to  his 
happy  damnation." 

And  again  he  drank  the  cool  fluid,  sucking  it 
greedily  from  the  cup  ere  he  returned  it  to 
Perpetua. 

The  girl  took  it  unconsciously.  She  had  for- 
gotten the  fool  in  his  phrase,  in  the  name  he 
gave  to  the  King.  Her  springs  had  been  sweet- 
ened by  hearing  of  Robert  the  Good,  of  his 
gentleness,  his  justice,  his  mercy,  of  how  men 
loved  him  in  Sicily.  She  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  his  golden  reign  would  endure  forever,  and 
now  she  learned  from  these  mocking  lips  that 
gentleness  and  justice  and  mercy  were  in  the 
dust.  "Robert  the  Bad,"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self, and  the  words  made  her  shudder  in  the 
vSun. 

The  fool  leered  at  her  as  if  he  read  her  thoughts, 
and  he  laughed  briskly. 

14 


PAIR    MAID^AND    FOUL    FOOL 

"Angel  of  Arcady,"  he  piped,  "shall  I  tell  you 
tales  of  the  King  to  admonish  your  innocen- 
cy?" 

Perpetua's  eyes  and  mind  came  back  from  the 
sky  into  which  she  had  been  staring.  There 
might  be  a  new  king  in  Sicily,  but  she  had  her 
old  work  to  do. 

"I  have  my  task  to  do,"  she  answered.  "But 
you  can  talk  to  me  at  my  work,  if  you  choose." 

"What  is  your  task?"  questioned  the  fool,  and 
the  girl  answered,  simply: 

"To  serve  my  father's  sword!" 

She  turned  from  her  interrogator  and  entered 
her  dwelling,  passing  between  its  fringe  of  columns, 
as  slim  and  erect  as  they,  while  the  fool  gaped  at 
her.  In  another  moment  she  reappeared,  carrying 
with  her  that  which  contrasted  strangely  enough 
with  her  sex,  her  beauty,  and  her  youth.  She 
bore  in  her  strong  hands,  and  bore  with  ease,  a 
great  two-handed  sword — the  two-handed  sword 
of  the  executioner,  her  father — the  two-handed 
sword  that  was  the  symbol  of  the  stroke  of 
justice  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world.  With  an  air 
of  pride  the  girl  carried  the  great  weapon,  the 

15 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

pride  of  a  child  with  its  doll,  of  a  mother  with  her 
infant,  of  a  soldier  with  his  flag. 

At  the  sight  of  her  the  fool  flung  up  his  arms 
and  emitted  a  queer,  ropy  gust  of  laughter. 

"  Oh,  ho !"  he  gurgled,  "oh,  ho !  I  think  I  know 
you  now.  You  are  the  daughter  of  Theron  the 
executioner." 

The  girl  looked  straightly  at  him,  her  eyes 
shining  under  levelled  brows.  She  let  the  point 
of  the  great  sword  rest  on  the  grass,  and  she 
leaned  upon  its  mighty  cross-piece,  resting  her 
cheek  against  its  handle.  Her  red  hair  ran  in 
ripples  over  her  shoulders  and  over  the  hilt  of 
the  blade,  red  as  ever  the  blood  the  blade  had 
caused  to  flow  of  old. 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Theron  the  executioner," 
she  said,  gravely. 

The  monster  flung  a  sneer  from  thrust-out  lips, 
emphasizing  it  w4th  thrust-out  hands. 

"A  pretty  trade!"  he  cried,  derisively.  The 
girl  answered  him  as  calmly  and  proudly  as  if 
she  were  the  very  divinity  of  justice  rebuking 
some  obscene  brawler. 

"I  have  no  horror  of  my  father's  trade.  This 
i6 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

sword  is  but  the  red  weapon  of  law,  as  law  is  the 
red  weapon  of  life." 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,"  the  man  retorted,  yelp- 
ing at  her  serenity.  "The  wild,  shy  country 
people  believe  the  blood  that  sword  has  shed 
flushes  in  your  hair,  and  that  the  life  it  has  taken 
rekindles  in  your  eyes." 

Perpetua  shook  her  head. 

"  This  sword  has  shed  no  blood  since  I  was  bom. 
King  Robert  the  Good  had  no  need  of  it," 

The  deformed  clasped  his  lean  fingers  across  his 
knees  and  rocked  to  and  fro  in  an  ecstasy  of 
pleasure. 

"King  Robert  the  Bad  will  have  great  need 
of  it.  Your  father's  arms  shall  ache  with  swing- 
ing. Why,  my  own  head  would  drop  to-morrow 
like  a  wind-fallen  apple  if  I  had  not  taken  fool's 
leave  to  the  heights  and  the  hollows." 

The  girl  drew  back  a  little,  still  clinging  to  the 
sword. 

"Are  you  blood-guilty?"  she  asked,  sternly. 

The  fool  laughed  shrilly  to  see  the  executioner's 
daughter  shrink  from  blood-guiltiness. 

"Not  I.  I  am  but  Diogenes,  the  Court  Fool, 
a  17 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

I  have  been  Prince  Robert's  plaything  over 
yonder  in  Naples  since  the  dawn  of  his  evil  spring. 
When  his  father's  death  brought  him  over-seas  to 
Sicily,  I  must  needs  come  too,  for  my  wry  wit 
diverts  him  and  my  wry  body  sets  off  his 
comeliness.  I  plumed  myself  on  my  favor,  but  I 
was  bottle-brave  last  night,  and  I  blundered.  In 
my  cups  I  aped  the  King's  airs  and  graces  to  a 
covey  of  court  strumpets  till  their  sleek  sides 
creaked  with  laughter.  *  Thus  does  King  Rob- 
ert carry  himself,'  jigged  I,  '  and  thus  does 
he  kiss  a  lady's  hand — fa,  la,  la!'  Oh,  it  was 
rare." 

Even  as  he  spoke  Diogenes  renewed  his  antics, 
skipping  on  the  grass  to  mimic  how  the  King 
skipped  on  the  palace  floor,  and  with  his  lean 
claws  he  blew  kisses.  Perpetua  thought  him  more 
repulsive  in  his  mirth  than  in  his  rage.  But 
suddenly  his  mirth  dropped  and  his  voice  fell  to  a 
whisper. 

"And  then  the  King  caught  me  at  my  capers 
and  his  heart  swelled  like  a  wet  sponge.  He  swore 
a  great  oath  that  my  fool's  head  should  be  the 
first  to  fall  under  his  tyranny." 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

The  girl  crossed  herself  in  horror  as  she  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Surely,  he  would  not  kill  a  fool  for  his  folly?" 

The  fool  shrugged  his  shoulders;  fear  and 
malignity  tugged  at  the  muscles  of  his  cheeks  and 
made  them  twitch. 

"The  King's  soul  is  as  red  as  hell;  sin  scarlet 
through  and  through ;  warp  and  woof,  there  is  no 
white  thread  of  heaven  in  him.  Shall  I  number 
you  the  beads  in  his  chaplet  of  vices  ?  The  seven 
deadly  devils  wanton  in  his  heart ;  his  spirit  is  of 
an  incredible  lewdness ;  he  is  prouder  than  the 
Pope,  more  cruel  than  a  mousing  cat — all  which 
I  complacently  forgave  him  till  he  touched  at 
my  top-knot,  but  now  I  hate  him." 

Again  the  girl  crossed  herself  swiftly,  while  she 
looked  at  the  puckered  face  with  curiosity,  with 
pity. 

"Can  you  hate  in  God's  sunshine?"  she  asked, 
and  as  she  spoke  she  looked  about  her  at  the 
trees  and  the  mountains  and  the  sea  and  the  grass 
and  the  flowers,  ennobled  and  ennobling  in  the  sun- 
light, and  her  heart  ached  at  the  new  thoughts 
that  had  thrust  themselves  into  her  life.     But 

19 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

the  fool  sneered  at  her  surprise  and  did  not  heed 
her  pity. 

"My  hate  is  a  cold  snake,  and  the  sun  will  not 
thaw  me."  He  struck  himself  fiercely  on  the 
breast  and  stared  at  her.  "  Look  at  me,  humped 
and  hideous.  How  could  this  rugged  hull  prove 
an  argosy  of  ineff abilities?" 

The  pity  deepened  on  the  girl's  face,  scattering 
the  curiosity,  and  she  spoke  gently,  hopefully: 

"I  have  sometimes  picked  a  wrinkled,  twisted 
pear  and  found  it  honey-sweet  at  the  heart." 

Even  the  callous  fool  felt  the  tenderness  in 
Perpetua's  voice,  the  tender  pity  of  the  strong 
spirit  for  the  weak,  the  evil,  the  unhappy.  He 
shook  his  head  less  angrily  than  before. 

"I  am  no  such  bird -of -paradise,"  he  sighed. 
"  My  mind  is  a  crooked  knife  in  a  crooked  sheath. 
When  I  was  a  child  in  my  Italian  village,  trimly 
built,  children  laughed  at  me  for  my  ugliness,  for 
my  hump,  for  my  peaked  chin  and  my  limp,  and 
I  learned  to  curse  other  children  as  I  learned  to 
speak.  Every  hand,  every  tongue  was  against 
the  hunchback,  yet  my  shame  saved  me.  For 
my  gibbosities  tickled  the  taste  of  a  travelling 

20 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

mountebank.  He  bought  me  of  my  parents,  who 
were  willing  enough  to  part  with  their  monster; 
he  trained  me  to  his  trade,  taught  me  to  sing  foul 
songs  and  to  dance  foul  dances.  I  have  grinned 
and  whistled  through  evil  days  and  ways.  My 
wit  was  gray  with  iniquities  when  Hildebrand,  the 
King's  minion,  saw  me  one  day  at  a  fair  in  Naples 
and  picked  me  out  for  jester  to  Prince  Robert." 

The  head  of  Diogenes  drooped  upon  his  breast. 
He  had  not  talked,  he  had  not  thought,  of  the 
past  for  long  enough,  and  the  memory  vexed  him. 
Perpetua  propped  the  sword  against  the  wall  of 
her  dwelling  and  stood  with  linked  hands  for  a 
little  while  in  silence,  looking  out  over  the  sea. 
Then  she  turned  again  to  where  the  fool  crouched, 
and  spoke  to  him  softly. 

"Are  all  court  folk  like  you?" 

Diogenes  lifted  his  head,  and  the  old  malignity 
glittered  in  his  eyes. 

"Ay,  in  the  souls;  but  for  the  most  part  they 
have  smooth  bodies." 

He  watched  the  girl  closely  while  her  eyes  again 
sought  the  sea  and  came  back  and  met  the  fool's 
gaze. 

21 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Is  the  King  like  you?"  she  questioned. 

The  fool  unhuddled  himself  and  leaped  to  his 
feet,  snapping  his  fingers  in  fantastic  imprecation, 

"My  soul  is  as  the  soul  of  a  sucking  babe  by 
his  wicked  soul ;  but,  as  for  his  body,  the  imperious 
gods  who  mock  us  have  given  him  a  most  ex- 
quisite outside,  the  case  of  an  angel  masking  a 
devil." 

He  raged  into  silence,  but  his  mouth  still  worked 
hideously,  as  if  his  hate  were  fumbling  for  words 
it  could  not  find.     The  girl  gave  a  great  sigh. 

"  I  did  not  know  there  were  such  men  in  the 
world,"  she  said.     The  fool  stared  at  her  in  amaze. 

"Then  you  must  have  seen  few  men,"  he 
grunted. 

"I  have  seen  few  men,"  the  girl  answered, 
sadly — "my  father,  who  is  old,  and  the  timid 
country  folk,  and  the  holy  brothers  of  the  church. 
Of  men  from  the  valley,  from  the  city,  I  have  seen 
but  two — you  and  one  other."  She  paused  for  a 
moment,  thoughtfully,  and  then  went  on  with  a 
swell  of  exultation  in  her  voice — "and  that  other 
was  not  like  you." 

The  fool  drew  nearer  to  her,   eagerly,   apish 

22 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

curiosity  goading  him.  "Who  was  my  fellow?" 
he  asked  of  the  girl,  who,  with  averted  head, 
seemed  as  one  who  dreams  waking.  Dreamily 
she  answered: 

"  One  dewy  morning  a  week  ago  I  met  a  hunter 
in  these  happy  woods."  She  closed  her  eyes  for 
a  moment  as  if  the  memory  was  sweet  to  her  and 
she  wished  to  shut  it  away  from  the  staring  fool. 

"Humph!"  said  Diogenes.  "In  the  days  of 
Robert  the  Good  men  might  not  hunt  in  these 
forests." 

Perpetua  looked  at  Diogenes  again  with  bright 
eyes  of  scorn. 

"King  Robert  was  gentle  with  beast  as  with 
man.  But  this  hunter  did  not  seem  cruel.  Like 
you,  he  was  tired;  like  you,  he  was  thirsty.  I 
showed  him  where  a  spring  of  sweet  water 
bubbled." 

"  What  was  his  outer  seeming?"  Diogenes  asked. 
Somewhat  of  a  warmer  color  touched  the  girl's 
cheeks. 

"My  father  has  told  me  tales  of  the  ancient 
heroes.  I  think  he  was  blessed  with  all  the 
comeliness  and  goodliness  of  the  Golden  Age." 

23 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Diogenes  jeered  at  her  enthusiasm  with  his 
voice,  with  his  eyes,  with  every  curve  and  angle 
of  his  misshapen  frame — protesting  against  praise 
of  beauty. 

"Did  he  pilfer  your  silly  heart  from  your  soft 
body  ?' '  he  asked.  Perpetua  answered  him  mildly, 
heedless  of  the  sneering  speech. 

"  He  spoke  me  fair.  He  was  grave  and  cour- 
teous. I  know  he  was  brave  and  good."  She 
moved  a  little  away,  with  her  hands  clasped,  speak- 
ing rather  to  herself,  but  indifferent  to  the 
presence  of  the  fool.  "When  God  wishes  me  to 
mate,  God  grant  that  I  love  such  a  man." 

The  frankness,  the  simplicity,  the  purity  of 
this  prayer  seemed  to  sting  Diogenes  to  a  fierce 
irritation.  Leering  and  lolling,  he  advanced  upon 
the  girl. 

"Did  he  kiss  you  upon  the  mouth?"  he  whis- 
pered, mean  insinuation  lighting  his  face  with  an 
ignoble  joy. 

The  girl  turned  upon  him  swiftly,  and  there 
was  a  sternness  in  her  face  that  made  the  fool 
recoil  involuntarily  and  wince  as  if  at  a  coming 
blow.     But  there  was  little  anger  in  the  girl's 

24 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

clear  speech  as  she  condemned  the  unclean 
thing, 

"You  have  a  vile  mind,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"And  if  I  did  not  pity  you  very  greatly  I  should 
change  no  words  with  you," 

Diogenes,  nothing  dashed  by  her  reproof,  neared 
her  in  a  dancing  manner,  smiling  as  some  ancient 
satyr  may  have  smiled  at  the  sight  of  some  shy, 
snared  nymph, 

"  How  if  I  chose  to  kiss  you?"  he  asked,  and  his 
loose  lips  mouthed  caressingly.  To  his  surprise 
the  girl  met  his  advances  as  no  shy  nymph  ever 
met  satyr,  with  a  hearty  peal  of  laughter,  that 
brought  the  tears  into  her  eyes  and  red  rage  into 
his.  She  thrust  towards  him  her  stroug,  smooth 
arms. 

"  I  have  a  man's  strength  to  prop  my  woman's 
pity,"  she  said,  as  she  broke  off  her  laughter,  "  and, 
believe  me,  you  would  fare  ill." 

Diogenes  eyed  her  with  a  dubiousness  that  soon 
became  certainty.  That  well  -  fashioned,  finely 
poised  creature,  with  the  firm  flesh  and  the  clean 
lines  of  an  athlete,  was  of  very  different  composi- 
tion from  the  court  minions  who  swam  in  the 

25 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

sunshine  of  Robert's  favor,  of  late  at  Naples  and 
now  in  Sicily.  He  had  strength  enough  to  tease 
them  and  hurt  them  sometimes  when  it  pleased 
Robert  to  suffer  him  to  maltreat  them;  but  here 
was  a  different  matter.  He  gave  ground  sullenly, 
the  girl  still  laughing,  with  her  strong  arms  lying 
by  her  sides. 

"  You  seem  a  stalwart  morsel,"  he  grunted.  "  I 
will  leave  you  in  peace  if  you  will  tell  me  where 
to  hide  from  the  King's  anger.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
greatly  grieve  to  leave  the  city,  for  they  say  a 
seaman  died  of  the  plague  there  last  night,  one  of 
those  that  came  with  us  out  of  Naples."  He 
shivered  as  he  spoke,  and  his  bird -like  claws 
fumbled  at  his  breast  in  an  attempt  to  make  the 
unfamiliar  sign  of  the  cross.  But  the  face  of  the 
girl  showed  no  answering  alarm. 

"Neither  the  plague  nor  the  King's  rage  need 
be  feared  in  these  forests,"  she  said.  "The  pure 
breezes  here  bear  balsam.  As  for  the  King's  rage, 
there  are  caves  in  these  woods  where  a  man 
might  hide,  snug  and  warm,  for  a  century.  Bush 
and  tree  yield  fruits  and  nuts  in  plenty,  for  a 
simple  stomach." 

26 


FAIR    MAID    AND    FOUL    FOOL 

"I  will  keep  myself  alive,  I  warrant  you," 
Diogenes  responded,  "and  to  pay  for  your  favor 
I  will  sing  you  a  song."  So  he  began  to  sing,  or 
rather  to  croak,  to  a  Neapolitan  air,  the  words 
of  the  Venus-song  of  the  light  women  of  Naples: 

"  Venus  stretched  her  arms,  and  said, 
'Cool  Adonis,  fool  Adonis, 
Hasten  to  my  golden  bed — '" 

Perpetua's  face  flamed,  and  she  put  her  fingers 
in  her  ears.  "Away  with  you!  away  with  you!" 
she  commanded. 

The  fool  stopped  in  his  measure ;  it  was  no  use 
piping  to  deaf  ears.  "  Farewell,  fair  prudery,"  he 
chuckled,  and  in  a  series  of  fantastic  hops  and 
bounds  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  pine  wood  and 
soon  was  lost  to  sight  within  its  sheltering  depths. 


II 

THE    COMING    OF   THE    KING 

When  the  last  gleam  of  the  fool's  parti-colored 
habit  had  disappeared  in  the  sanctuary  of  the 
wood,  Perpetua  took  her  hands  from  her  ears  and 
seated  herself  on  a  fragment  of  a  fallen  column 
that  had  formerly  made  part  of  the  colonnade  of 
the  Temple  of  Venus.  Here  she  sat  for  a  while 
with  her  hands  listlessly  clasped,  trying  to  dis- 
entangle the  puzzling  web  of  her  thoughts.  Her 
most  immediate  sensation  was  delight  at  the 
departure  of  Diogenes.  The  warm,  fair  day  seem- 
ed to  have  grown  old  and  cold  with  his  world 
wisdom,  a  wisdom  so  different  from  all  that  she 
had  ever  been  taught  to  venerate  as  wise. 

"If  I  were  a  bird,"  she  sighed  aloud,  "I  could 
not  sing  while  he  was  near.  If  I  were  a  flower,  I 
should  fade  at  his  coming." 

She  rose  from  her  throne  and  blew  kisses  on  her 
28 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

finger-tips  to  the  birds  that  sang  about  her,  to  the 
flowers  that  flamed  beneath  her  feet.  ' '  Be  happy, 
birds,"  she  whispered;  "be  happy,  flowers,  for 
the  withered  fool  has  gone." 

She  spoke  to  the  birds,  she  spoke  to  the  flowers 
as  she  would  have  spoken  to  human  friends  if  she 
had  any ;  they  were  her  friends,  and  she  loved  them 
dearly,  and  she  believed  with  all  her  heart  that 
they  understood  her  speech.  She  bent  tenderly 
over  one  tall  plant  and  touched  its  golden  crest. 
Diogenes  had  passed  from  her  thoughts  as  she 
stooped  and  made  the  flower  her  confidant.  "  I 
wonder  when  the  hunter  will  come  again." 

She  turned  and  stretched  out  her  hands  in 
pretty  appeal  towards  the  woodland. 

"Dear  forest  beasts,"  she  whispered,  "forgive 
me,  for  I  think  I  shall  rejoice  at  his  coming." 

She  drew  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  as 
if  she  sought  to  banish  distracting  thoughts, 
thoughts  that  had  no  place  before  in  the  simple 
order  of  her  life.  Then,  as  one  who  seeks  dis- 
traction in  the  fulfilment  of  an  appointed  task, 
she  moved  to  take  the  great  sword  and  dedi- 
cate herself  to  its  service.     Holding  it  surely  and 

29 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

firmly  in  her  strong  grasp,  she  carried  it  to  where 
the  grindstone  stood,  and  carefully  laid  the  edge 
of  the  blade  to  the  shoulder  of  the  stone  wheel, 
while  she  worked  the  treadle  with  her  foot.  As 
the  wheel  spun  and  the  sword  hissed  on  the  stone, 
she  sang  to  herself  the  old,  old  sword-song  that 
her  father  had  taught  her,  the  song  that  men 
who  made  swords  had  sung  in  some  form  or  other 
from  the  dawn  of  war : 

"Out  of  the  red  earth 
The  sword  of  sharpness; 
Blue  as  the  moonlight, 
Bright  as  the  lightning." 

The  song  wavered  on  her  lips  to  the  merest 
thread  of  music  and  then  faded  into  silence.  Her 
body  was  still  busy  with  the  sword,  but  her  mind 
had  drifted  away  from  the  place  where  she  was 
to  the  place  where  she  had  been  a  week  ago,  to 
that  cool,  green  hollow  in  the  wood  where  she  had 
met  the  tired  hunter.  He  came  upon  her  through 
the  cracking  brush,  through  the  parting  leaves; 
he  stood  before  her,  the  sunlight  touching  him 
through  the  branches,  with  a  smile  on  his  young, 

30 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

fair  face;  he  saluted  her  with  simpHcity  and 
grace,  and  as  she  gazed  at  him  dim  legends  of 
Greek  heroes  crowded  upon  her  and  she  could 
well  have  believed  that  she  beheld  Perseus  the 
dragon-slayer  or  Theseus  the  redresser  of  mortal 
wrongs.  Their  speech  had  been  scanty,  but  it 
still  sounded  sweet  to  her  ears.  He  had  said  he 
was  thirsty,  and  she  gave  him  to  drink  from  a 
familiar  spring;  he  had  asked  for  guidance,  and 
she  had  shown  him  the  way  out  of  the  forest. 

That  was  all,  or  almost  all.  He  had  said  he  would 
come  again ;  and,  of  course,  he  would  come  again. 
In  her  simple  philosophy  a  given  word  was  given, 
a  promise  ever  redeemed.  There  was  no  trouble 
in  her  thought  of  him ;  she  had  been  glad  to  meet 
this  wonderful,  joyous  being;  she  would  be  glad 
to  see  him  again;  in  the  mean  time  there  was 
pleasure  in  meditation.  How  bright  his  hair  was 
and  how  kind  his  smile!  and  his  eyes  were  like 
a  mountain  lake, 

Perpetua  was  so  absorbed  by  her  thoughts  and 
her  task  that  she  did  not  hear  the  soft  sound  of 
quiet  footsteps  on  the  grass  as  a  man  crested  the 
hill,  an  old  man,  tall  and  gray  and  sturdy,  dressed 

31 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

in  a  jerkin  and  leggings  of  faded  scarlet  leather, 
who  stood  upon  the  open  space,  silently  watching 
her. 

Once  again  the  clear  voice  of  Perpetua  floated 
into  the  air: 

"Arising,  falling, 
The  sword  of  sharpness, 
Weapon  of  Godhead, 
Baffles  the  Devil." 

The  song  ended ;  the  sword  lay  motionless  upon 
the  motionless  stone;  the  girl's  thoughts  were  in 
the  green  heart  of  the  wood. 

"  I  wonder  what  sweet  name  he  carries.  I 
wonder  who  was  his  mother.  She  must  have 
been  a  happy  woman.  I  wonder  who  will  be  his 
happy  wife." 

A  tear  fell  upon  the  bright  blade  and  startled 
Perpetua. 

"I  am  too  big  a  girl,"  she  said  to  herself,  "to 
be  such  a  baby — and  tears  will  rust  on  a  sword." 

As  she  wiped  the  sword  clean  with  her  sleeve, 
the  new-comer  advanced  and  touched  her  gently 
on  the  shoulder.  The  girl  swung  round  with  a 
cry  of  joy.     She  leaned  the  sword  against  a  tree, 

32 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

and,  running  to  the  man,  clasped  him  in  her  arms, 
the  strong  young  girl  chnging  to  the  strong  elder 
like  some  beautiful  creeper  encircling  an  ancient, 
stalwart  tree. 

"Oh,  father!"  she  cried.  "I  am  so  glad  you 
have  come!     I  have  been  so  lonely." 

Theron's  brown  hand  rested  gently  on  the 
girl's  head,  and  his  brown  face  smiled  love.  There 
was  trouble  in  his  eyes,  there  was  trouble  in  the 
lines  of  his  forehead,  but  the  sight  of  his  daughter 
softened  them,  and  she  read  nothing  but  greet- 
ing. 

"Lonely,  little  eagle?"  he  asked,  with  surprise 
in  his  voice.  The  girl  noted  the  surprise  and 
laughed  a  little  as  she  answered. 

"  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  lonely  be- 
fore. You  and  I  and  the  sword,  and  our  songs, 
and  the  holy  men,  and  the  trees  and  the  flowers 
and  the  furred  and  feathered  woodlanders" — 
she  ran  through  the  sum  of  her  companionships 
— "they  seemed  to  make  a  perfect  world  of 
peace." 

Theron  heard  the  change  in  the  child's  voice, 
Theron  saw  the  change  in  the  child's  eyes. 
3  33 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Who  has  disturbed  this  world  of  peace?"  he 
asked,  and  a  frown  grew  on  his  face.  ^ 

"Strangers,"  the  girl  answered,  turning  a  Httle 
away,  while  the  old  man  caught  at  the  word  and 
echoed  it  in  fear  and  anger,  while  his  hand  went 
to  the  hilt  of  his  knife. 

"Strangers?" 

"There  was  one  here  but  now,"  Perpetua  an- 
swered, "a  fugitive  from  the  city,  whose  coming 
troubled  me.  He  said  the  world  was  as  wicked 
as  a  sick  dream,  and  my  heart  grew  cold  in  the 
sunshine." 

The  lines  on  Theron's  face  deepened  danger- 
ously. "  Had  I  been  by  I  would  have  twitched 
his  tongue  out,"  he  said,  fiercely.  Perpetua  press- 
ed her  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"No,  father,  you  could  not  have  touched  him, 
for  he  was  deformed  and  twisted — a  hideous, 
helpless  thing." 

Theron  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  ground.  "  I 
set  my  heel  upon  a  scorpion !"  he  cried.  Perpetua 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  the  things  that  are  made  to 
bite  and  sting.     Let  us  think  no  more  of  it.   Tell 

34 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

me  of  the  Golden  Age,  father,  when  heroes  roamed 
through  the  world,  beautiful  youths  with  eyes 
like  mountain  lakes." 

Theron  turned  moodily  from  his  daughter,  and, 
going  to  the  edge  of  the  hill,  looked  down  upon 
the  distant  city. 

"The  Golden  Age  is  over  long  ago,"  he  said, 
gloomily,  "and  we  have  come  to  the  end  of  time." 

Perpetua  saw  that  her  father  was  agitated,  and 
wondered  why  the  passing  of  Diogenes  should 
move  him  so  much.  She  yearned  to  tell  him  her 
sweet  secret  of  the  other  comer,  the  beautiful 
hunter  with  the  bright  eyes  and  the  bright  hair, 
yet  when  she  strove  to  speak  words  seemed  to  be 
denied  her.  In  all  the  years  of  her  young  life, 
in  all  the  years  of  love  for  her  father,  and  of  a 
friendship,  a  comradeship  wellnigh  more  wonder- 
ful than  love,  there  had  been  no  secret  shut  in 
her  heart  from  him.  Now  there  was,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  she  could  not  set  it  free.  While  she  hesitated, 
Theron  turned  to  her  again,  and  asked,  abruptly, 
"Was  this  the  only  intruder  to-day?" 

Perpetua  felt  her  cheeks  bum  as  she  answered, 
"Ay,"  but  Theron  did  not  notice  her  confusion, 

35 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

for  he  was  again  gazing  down  upon  the  city,  and, 
though  he  questioned  anew,  his  voice  was  Hstless. 

"I  thought  you  said  strangers?" 

"There  has  been  no  one  else  to-day,"  Perpetua 
answered.  vShe  purposely  set  some  stress  on  the 
last  word,  that  her  father  might,  if  he  chose, 
make  further  question,  but  he  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  in  hea\^  thoughts.  He  turned  from 
his  view  of  the  city  and  came  to  her  with  a  grave 
face. 

"There  will  be  others,"  he  said.  "The  new 
King-" 

"Robert  the  Bad?"  Perpetua  interrupted. 

Theron  stared  at  her.  "Where  did  you  learn 
that?" 

"The  withered  fool  called  the  King  so." 

"  The  fool  yelped  wisdom,"  Theron  said,  bitterly. 

Perpetua  came  up  to  him  and  touched  him  on 
the  arm.  "Father,"  she  said.  "You  did  not 
tell  me  that  there  was  a  new  king  in  Sicily." 

The  executioner  looked  down  upon  his  daugh- 
ter's face  with  a  smile  of  grim  pity.  Putting  his 
arm  around  her  shoulders,  he  led  her  to  the  fallen 
column,  and  they  sat  there  side  by  side. 

36 


PERPETUA 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

"111  news  comes  too  soon,  whenever  it  comes," 
he  said.  "I  had  hoped  against  hope  for  so 
long.  I  never  told  you  that  our  good  King  had 
a  son,  the  pride  and  anguish  of  his  life,  the  beau- 
tiful youth  for  whose  restoration  to  health  yonder 
church  was  set  on  the  highest  pinnacle  of  these 
mountains.  Sometimes  we  get  our  wish  and  find 
it  a  weapon  that  wounds  our  flesh.  'Any  price,' 
King  Robert  prayed — '  any  price  for  my  son's  life.' 
And  life  came  back  to  the  dying  child,  but  it 
seemed  like  a  new  life,  selfish  and  vain  and  cruel. 
Weary  of  his  father's  simple  rule  and  quiet  court, 
he  went  oversea  to  his  duchy  of  Naples  and  lived 
there  an  evil  life.  The  King's  ministers  tried 
to  keep  knowledge  of  this  from  the  good  King's 
ears,  but  such  news  flies  in  through  the  chinks  of 
palace  doors.  Still  he  did  not  know  the  worst, 
and  to  the  day  of  his  sudden  death  he  hoped  that 
his  heir  might  yet  prove  worthy  to  wear  the  crown 
of  Sicily.  How  vain  that  hope  was  Sicily  now 
knows." 

Theron  was  silent,  staring  sullenly  at  the 
ground.     Perpetua  plucked  softly  at  his  sleeve. 

"  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  this  ?' '  she  whispered. 
37 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Theron  shook  his  head. 

"Dear  child,  for  the  sake  of  your  mother's 
memory,  who  died  to  give  you  hfe,  you  have 
Hved  here  in  the  holy  woods  away  from  an  unholy 
world.  As  a  man  shelters  a  little,  flickering  flame, 
hollowing  his  hands  around  it  to  keep  it  from  the 
wind,  as  a  man  screens  a  flower  from  the  cold,  so 
I  have  striven  to  shelter  and  to  screen  your  life, 
so  that  you  might  come  to  womanhood  in  such  a 
fashion — so  simple,  so  pure,  so  holy — as  that  in 
which  girls  grew  to  womanhood  in  the  Golden 
Age.  Therefore  I  did  not  tell  you  that  Robert 
the  Good  was  dead;  therefore  I  did  not  tell  you 
that  this  Italianate  Prince  of  Naples  reigned  in 
his  stead.  So  much  you  have  learned  from  a 
stranger,  but  you  shall  learn  no  more.  Men 
seldom  come  to  these  windy  pinnacles;  the  King 
and  the  King's  men  and  the  King's  women  never, 
in  all  likelihood,  again." 

The  girl  listened  lovingly  to  the  well -loved 
voice.  "  Father,"  she  asked,  "  why  does  the  King 
come  to  these  heights?  His  father  never  came 
here." 

"  Robert  the  Good  never  came  here  in  your  life- 
38 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

time,  child,"  Theron  answered,  "for  his  heart 
was  sad  within  him  at  the  thought  of  all  the  hope 
and  joy  that  had  gone  to  the  building  of  this 
temple  and  all  the  disappointment  that  came 
after.  But  his  son  comes  in  ostentation.  Since 
his  accession,  he  has  visited  in  turn  every  church 
in  his  kingdom,  and  given  to  every  altar  some 
glorious  gift,  that  Heaven,  so  he  boasts,  impiously, 
may  be  in  debt  to  him.  He  comes  to-day  to  this, 
the  least  and  last." 

Perpetua  crossed  herself  as  her  father  spoke  of 
the  King's  impious  boast. 

"Then  I  shall  see  the  King?"  she  said. 

Theron  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Perpetua,  you  will  not  see  the  King. 
You  and  I  will  keep  close  in-doors  to-day,  talking 
of  the  old  gods  and  the  old  heroes,  till  the  King 
has  come  and  gone,  and  then  we  will  try  to  forget 
that  there  is  such  a  king  in  Sicily." 

Perpetua  sat  silently  for  a  few  moments,  with 
her  hands  clasped  across  her  knees,  gazing  with 
wide  eyes  at  the  golden  air,  quivering  with  heat. 
Then  she  turned  to  Theron. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "if  the  world  be  not  all 
39 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

peace  and  sweetness,  are  we  wise  to  shut  our  eyes 
to  the  worse  part  of  God's  handiwork?  Are  we 
wise  to  hide  from  Hfe,  Hke  a  lizard  in  a  cranny  of 
a  wall?  You  say  the  Golden  Age  is  dead  and 
gone.  Can  we  bring  it  back  by  make-believe? 
Can  we  hold  the  summer  back  by  saying  it  is  still 
summer  while  the  snow  is  on  the  ground?" 

Theron  turned  and  looked  at  her  thoughtful 
face  with  some  wonder.  Never  before  had  it 
happened  that  she  had  questioned  his  judgment. 
They  had  been  happy  together  in  their  mountain 
nest;  he  had  shut  out  the  world  for  so  long;  he 
hated  to  think  that  he  could  not  shtit  it  out  for- 
ever. And  now  some  knowledge  had  come  to  the 
so  jealously  guarded  girl,  creeping  into  the  unreal 
world  he  had  created  for  her,  and  the  thought  of 
it  vexed  him.  But  there  was  no  vexation  in  his 
voice  as  he  answered  her,  smiling. 

"You  talk  as  glibly  as  the  Seven  Sages,  little 
eagle,  but  I  will  not  argue  with  3'ou.  We  must 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  world,  and  the  best  way  is 
to  shut  it  out." 

Perpetua  leaned  forward  and  kissed  him.  "  Dear 
father,"   she    said,   with    infinite    reverence    and 

40 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

affection  in  her  voice.  From  far  below  there 
came  to  her  ears  a  sound  of  distant  music.  She 
read  in  Theron's  face  that  he  heard  it,  too,  and, 
hearing,  he  shuddered. 

"  Hark!"  he  said.     "  Do  you  hear  that  music?" 

He  rose  and  moved  to  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
and  Perpetua,  rising,  followed  him.  Standing  by 
his  side  she  looked  down  the  slope  of  the  mountain, 
and  saw,  far  away,  on  the  long,  white  road,  a 
moving  mass  and  the  gleam  of  gold  and  steel. 

"It  is  the  King's  company,"  Theron  said, 
sadly.     "  In-doors  with  you,  sword  and  singer." 

Instantly  obedient,  Perpetua  turned,  took  the 

sword  from  the  tree  against  which  she  had  propped 

it  when  Theron  arrived,  and  entered  the  dwelling, 

murmuring   as   she   went   another   verse   of   the 

sword-song : 

"  The  gods  of  Hellas 
Blessed  it  with  beauty; 
The  gods  of  Norland 
Filled  it  with  fury." 

As  she  passed,  singing,  out  of  sight  beneath  the 
turquoise-tinted  dome,  Theron  looked  after  her 
sadly.     Then  he  went  again  to  the  brow  of  the 

41 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

hill  and  looked  down  the  green  slope,  clothed 
thickly  with  venerable  trees,  cypress  and  pine  and 
pepper  tree,  tamarisk  and  prickly  pear,  to  the 
fair  city  beyond,  nestling  amid  her  groves  of  gray- 
leaved  olive  and  green-leaved  almond,  her  vine- 
yards, her  orchards  of  peach  and  apple  and  fig. 

"Unhappy  Syracuse!"  he  sighed.  "Evil  hours 
are  gathering  about  you  as  the  vultures  gather 
around  the  dead  body  that  is  cast  into  the 
Barathron.  It  was  whispered  within  your  walls 
this  morning  that  one  had  died  of  the  plague,  but 
this  proud  prince  is  worse  than  any  plague." 

He  sighed  again  as  he  watched  the  distant 
procession  moving  slowly  onward.  His  keen  sight 
could  distinguish  horsemen  and  litters,  golden 
trappings,  many-colored  banners;  his  keen  ears 
caught,  with  no  pleasure,  the  triumphant  swell 
of  the  royal  music.  It  would  be  a  long  w^hile  yet 
before  the  new  King  and  his  people  could  reach 
the  shrine  of  the  archangel.  There  was  a  point 
on  the  steep  hill-side  where  horseman  must  dis- 
mount, where  lady  must  leave  litter  and  continue 
the  ascent  on  foot. 

Theron  still  seemed  to  gaze  at  the  slowly  ad- 
42 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    KING 

vancing  cortege,  but  his  mind  was  far  away  from 
the  glittering,  tinkling  company.  He  was  turning 
in  fancy  the  pages  of  his  past,  as  he  might  have 
turned  the  pages  of  some  painted  manuscript, 
and  reading  therein  the  record  of  his  strange  life. 
He  saw  himself  in  his  boyhood,  the  son  of  the 
hereditary  executioner,  aiding  his  father's  task, 
learning  his  father's  trade,  patient  and  unashamed. 
He  saw  himself  in  his  young  manhood  loving 
beyond  his  star,  and  his  heart  quickened  as  he 
thought  of  youth  and  beauty.  He  saw  himself 
in  his  prime,  and  his  eyes  filled  as  he  thought  of 
youth  and  beauty  wronged,  betrayed,  and  aban- 
doned. He  saw  himself  clasping  in  his  arms  the 
injured  idol  of  his  youth ;  he  saw  again  the  strange 
scene  in  the  forest,  the  captured  wronger,  the 
rude,  lawless  trial,  and  the  stroke  of  the  great 
sword  which  avenged  dishonor.  He  saw  again  his 
sad,  sweet  nuptials;  he  lived  anew  through  that 
brief  spring  and  summer  and  autumn  of  belated 
happiness ;  he  saw  again  the  dead  woman  and  the 
living  child.  He  recalled  his  vow  that  the  girl 
Heaven  had  given  him  should  live  apart  from  the 
world,   sequestered   in  the  holy  solitude  of  the 

43 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 


hills,  cloistered  in  the  pine  woods.  Year  by  year 
he  seemed  to  see  again  the  growth  of  the  girl's 
life,  the  patient  care,  the  mutual  love — saw  at  the 
last  the  fairest  flower  of  Sicilian  maidenhood, 
Perpetua.  All  these  memories  belonged  to  the 
reign  of  the  good  king  Robert,  the  days  when  the 
executioner's  sword  never  swung  in  the  sunlight 
over  a  victim,  when  it  was  almost  possible  for 
the  executioner  to  credit  the  ancient  tales  that 
he  told  to  his  beautiful  child,  and  to  believe  that 
the  Golden  Age,  indeed,  had  come  again.  And 
now  King  Robert  the  Good  was  dead  and  the 
Golden  Age  was  as  far  off  as  those  little,  golden 
clouds  above  the  sea. 

The  executioner  clasped  his  hands  together  in 
a  despairing  prayer  for  Syracuse.  For  himself  he 
must  ply  his  trade,  for  that  was  his  duty  as  it  had 
been  that  of  his  father  before  him,  and  his  father 
before  him.  As  for  Perpetua,  he  would  make  a 
home  for  her  still  deeper  in  the  heart  of  the 
mountain  woods,  and  still  tell  her  marvellous 
stories  of  the  Age  of  Gold. 

He  turned  away  from  the  prospect  of  the  city 
and  walked  slowly  towards  his  dwelling.     Clearer 

44 


THE    COMING   OF   THE    KING 

and  clearer  now  came  the  sound  of  the  advancing 
music.     He  paused  for  a  moment  on  his  threshold. 

"  I  shall  be  brighter  when  the  King  has  come 
and  gone,"  he  said.  Then  he  entered  his  dwelling 
and  drew  the  door  to  after  him. 

And  for  a  while  there  was  quiet  on  the  summit 
of  the  mountain. 


Ill 

ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

The  bronze  archangel,  resting  on  his  sword,  in 
the  niche  hollowed  in  the  side  of  the  gray  Norman 
church,  had  never  looked  before  upon  so  great  or 
so  brave  a  concourse  of  people.  When  the  statue 
had  been  put  in  its  place,  setting  thus  the  seal 
upon  the  pious  founder's  purpose,  King  Robert 
the  Good  came  simply  clad  and  with  little  state, 
as  was  his  custom,  to  attend  the  consecration  of 
the  church.  Since  that  day,  twenty  years  had 
come  and  gone,  tempering  the  bronze  figure  with 
the  changes  of  the  seasons  and  the  drift  of  time ; 
but  the  changing  years  brought  few  visitors  to 
the  shrine.  King  Robert  himself  never  came 
again,  for  with  that  day  had  begun  the  bitter 
disappointment  which  shadowed  the  rest  of  the 
good  King's  life.  And  if  the  King  did  not  visit 
the  temple  himself  had  erected,  the  rest  of  Syra- 

46 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

cuse  was  ready  enough  to  follow  his  example. 
For  the  way  was  long,  the  road  only  in  part 
possible  for  horse  travel,  and  the  rest  of  the 
ascent  steep  and  arduous.  The  few  appointed 
priests  did  their  daily  offices  in  the  lonely  building 
to  a  scanty  congregation  consisting  of  Theron  and 
his  child,  with  now  and  then  such  of  the  country 
folk  as  chose  rather  to  climb  to  the  lonely  church 
upon  the  height  than  to  descend  to  the  more 
populous  places  of  worship  that  lay  along  the 
valley. 

But  to-day  the  condition  of  things  was  strangely 
changed.  In  the  mellow  light  of  the  late  after- 
noon the  grassy  platform  below  the  rock  on 
which  the  church  stood  was  thronged  with  a 
brilliant  assemblage  of  men  and  women,  as  un- 
familiar to  the  bronze  archangel  as  the  bronze 
archangel  was  unfamiliar  to  them.  Within  a 
circle  of  men-at-arms  in  shining  shirts  of  mail  and 
pointed  helmets,  and  of  knights  more  heavily 
armored  and  appointed  with  fantastically  paint- 
ed shields,  stood  at  one  side  the  lords  and  ladies 
who  made  up  the  flower  of  the  new  King's  court, 
and  on  the  other  all  the  principal  ecclesiastics 

47 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

of  Syracuse.  Court  and  Church  vied  with  each 
other  in  splendor  of  apparel.  The  jewels  that 
gleamed  on  the  hands  and  in  the  hair  and  round 
the  neck  of  beautiful  women  and  comely  men 
stiffened  with  no  lesser  splendor  the  vestments  of 
the  princes  of  the  Church,  whose  robes,  as  rich 
as  the  gorgeous  garments  of  the  court,  answered 
color  with  color  and  texture  with  texture.  A 
Sicilian  nurtured  in  the  school  of  Robert  the  Good 
would  have  frowned  at  the  effrontery  with  which 
the  women  audaciously  intensified  the  clinging 
fit  of  the  garments,  which  moulded  the  form  so 
precisely,  and  would  have  deplored  the  elegance, 
the  effeminate  foppery,  which  the  comrades  of  the 
new  King  had  imported  with  them  as  part  and 
parcel  of  the  Neapolitan  inheritance.  But  the 
new-comers  cared  nothing  for  the  opinion  of  the 
old-fashioned  adherents  of  a  dead  king  and  a 
dead  day;  their  desire  was,  as  their  master's,  to 
renew  the  delights  of  Naples  imder  a  Sicilian  sky 
and  to  enrich  life  to  the  limit  with  all  the  luxury 
that  could  add  a  grace  to  grace  and  give  a  sharper 
zest  to  pleasure. 

This  splendid  brotherhood,  this  shining  sister- 

48 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

hood,  stood,  as  it  were,  poised  in  an  attitude  of 
expectation  more  eager  than  ever  was  shown  for 
the  passing  of  Ramazan  by  any  of  those  Saracens 
who  at  one  time  were  lords  of  the  lovely  island. 
The  sun  that  means  so  much  to  the  Saracen  was 
sinking  down  the  sky,  but  the  sun  for  which  those 
fair  faces  of  men  and  women  watched  with  so 
much  real  or  assumed  impatience  had  not  yet 
risen  upon  their  horizon.  They  were  waiting  for 
the  coming  of  the  King.  At  the  point  where  the 
road  to  the  church  had  become  impracticable  for 
horse  or  litter,  courtiers  and  ladies,  priests  and 
knights  had  to  climb  as  best  they  could  the  stub- 
born slope  to  the  summit.  But  the  fatigue  which 
was  thus  imposed  upon  the  tender  limbs  of  women, 
upon  the  ancient  frames  of  ecclesiastics,  was  not 
to  be  borne  by  the  new  King  of  Sicily.  He  was 
carried  up  the  incline  in  a  chair  by  two  herculean 
Moorish  slaves,  so  strong  and  surefooted  that 
the  stubborn  ascent  could  be  made  with  the  least 
possible  discomfort  to  his  royal  body.  While  the 
others  had  groaned  and  sweated  as  they  scuffled 
up  the  hill — that  they  might  reach  the  goal  in 
time  to  receive  their  royal  master — that  royal 
4  49 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

master  made  his  progress  with  all  the  ease  and 
leisure  possible,  accompanied  by  his  closest  friend, 
his  dearest  favorite,  the  Count  Hildebrand. 

A  little  stir  in  the  courtly  circle  intimated  that 
the  awaited  moment  had  arrived.  Men  bent  the 
knee  in  homage,  women  bowed  in  reverence,  as  the 
young  King,  lightly  resting  his  hand  on  Hilde- 
brand's  shoulder,  leaped  from  his  chair  and  ad- 
vanced in  smiles  upon  his  worshippers. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  an  older  w^orld  to  learn 
with  something  like  intimate  accuracy  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  King,  for  though  the  few  pictures 
that  exist  of  him  in  certain  illuminated  manu- 
scripts in  the  libraries  of  Sicilian  monasteries  are, 
in  the  first  place,  but  indifferent  specimens  of  the 
indifferent  portraiture  of  the  period,  and,  in  the 
second  place,  are  almost  all  taken  at  a  later  period 
of  his  life,  the  records,  both  monastic  and  civil,  of 
the  age  furnish  descriptions,  evidently  faithful 
and  always  in  agreement,  which  allow  of  some 
attempt  to  appreciate  his  form  and  features. 

The  young  Prince,  whom  the  fool  Diogenes  had 
nicknamed  Robert  the  Bad,  was  still  in  the  flower 
of  his  age,  the  pride  of  his  health,  the  triumph  of 

50 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

his  beauty.  Of  middle  height,  his  slender  form 
made  him  always  seem  taller  than  he  really  was, 
an  effect  further  heightened  by  the  erect  grace  of 
his  carriage.  His  body  was  nimble  and  alert — 
the  words  are  the  words  of  an  ancient  chronicler — 
his  limbs  were  finely  shaped ;  his  hands  and  feet 
were  the  theme  and  the  despair  of  his  parasites. 
But  no  quality  with  which  it  had  pleased  Heaven 
to  endow  his  body  was  ever  noted  by  an  observer 
who  was  not  at  first  taken  captive  by  the  en- 
chantment of  the  young  King's  face.  His 
countenance  was  cast  in  the  mould  of  antique 
beauty.  So  might  Alcibiades  have  looked  when 
he  reeled  into  the  banquet-hall,  with  roses  on  his 
forehead,  to  reason  and  to  jest  with  Socrates;  so 
might  Antinous  have  seemed  when  he  drifted  with 
Hadrian  upon  the  Nile.  The  passion  for  pleasure, 
which  had  characterized  him  from  the  moment 
of  his  recovery  from  the  illness  that  threatened 
his  youth,  had  laid  no  stain  upon  his  visage;  his 
cheeks  were  as  smooth,  his  lips  as  red,  his  hair  as 
bright  as  those  of  a  child,  and  the  limpid  clearness 
of  his  eyes  met  the  beholder's  gaze  with  the  un- 
blemished frankness  of  a  boy.     ]\Iost  of  those  who 

51 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

praised  Prince  Robert  for  his  physical  beauty 
would,  no  doubt,  have  so  praised  him  if  he  had 
been  as  ugly  as  a  monkey,  but  for  once  in  a  way 
the  tongue  of  flattery  could  scarcely  overcrow 
the  truth. 

The  young  King,  heedless  of  the  fashion  of  the 
day,  clothed  his  comely  body  so  as  to  display  it 
to  the  best  advantage;  he  eschewed  the  long  and 
cumbrous  garments  that  were  associated  with 
dignity,  with  royalty,  and  wore,  instead,  the  tunic 
and  long  hose  that  gave  his  shapely  limbs  the 
greatest  freedom  and  the  most  hberal  display. 
But  any  simplicity  in  the  form  of  his  habit  was 
splendidly  atoned  for  by  the  costliness  of  the 
material.  The  revenues  of  a  rich  merchant  for 
a  year  might  have  been  spent  upon  the  woven 
and  embroidered  stuft's  that  garbed  the  King's 
person,  yet  little  of  these  noble  stuffs  was  visible, 
so  richly  were  they  embellished  with  gold  and 
adorned  with  jewels. 

Behind  the  King  came  the  Count  Hildebrand, 
who  might  have  passed  for  the  handsomest  man 
in  Sicily  if  Sicily  had  no  King  Robert.  Dressed 
almost  as  richly  as  the  monarch,  he  would  have 

52 


I 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

dazzled  many  if  Robert  himself  had  not  been  by. 
He  was  of  a  more  powerful  make  than  the  King, 
though  he  affected  with  success  the  same  almost 
feminine  daintiness  of  carriage  and  habit ;  but  the 
beauty  of  his  face  was  of  a  coarser  pattern  than 
the  King's,  and  his  dark  eyes  had  no  gleam  of  the 
almost  infantile  candor  which  was  the  charm  of 
the  King's  regard. 

Robert  greeted  his  adorers  with  a  salutation 
that  was  in  itself  an  act  of  grace,  and  made  an 
amiable  gesture  with  his  hand  which  immediately 
summoned  to  him  those  of  the  court  ladies  who 
for  the  moment  were  warmed  by  his  more  im- 
mediate favor. 

They  fluttered  about  him  in  an  instant,  trem- 
ulous as  brilliant  butterflies  hovering  around  a 
royal  rose:  Faustina,  with  the  proud  face  of  a 
Roman  marble;  Messalinda,  with  the  fair  hair  of 
some  witch-woman  of  the  North;  Yolande,  the 
exquisite  French  girl  with  the  brown  hair  and  the 
brown  eyes — Yolande  so  envied  of  all  the  others, 
as  being,  as  it  seemed,  the  latest  in  the  King's 
favor,  the  nearest  in  the  King's  grace.  Robert 
caught  Faustina  and  Messalinda  round  the  waist 

53 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

and  drew  them  for  a  moment  tenderly  to  him, 
serenely  indifferent  to  the  presence  of  spectators, 
many  of  whom  were  ministers  of  the  Church, 
while  he  shot  a  mocking  smile  at  Yolande,  who 
modestly  lowered  her  lids.  Then  he  released  his 
laughing,  delighted  captives,  and  snatched  a  fan 
from  Yolande 's  fingers,  with  which  he  fanned 
himself  languishingly. 

"  Surely  this  hill  is  as  high  as  heaven,"  he  com- 
plained. "  Of  a  truth,  we  should  wear  the  wings 
of  angels  for  these  adventures  into  cloud-land." 

Messalinda  gave  him  an  extravagant  bow  and 
a  yet  more  extravagant  simper. 

"Your  Majesty  has  all  the  other  attributes  of 
angelhood,"  she  averred. 

Faustina  hastened  to  offer  her  own  tribute  of 
flattery  to  the  pleased  Prince. 

"Would  you  leave  nothing  to  the  celestials, 
sire?" 

The  bright  face  of  the  King  smiled  infinite 
approval  of  her  speech. 

"In  truth,"  he  said,  "if  they  were  like  me 
at  all  points  they  might  become  too  vain  for  the 
courts  of  heaven." 

54 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

It  was  now  Yolande's  turn  to  weave  her  flower 
of  praise  into  the  royal  garland. 

"The  celestials  had  better  abide  in  the  courts 
of  heaven,  for  if  they  came  to  earth  they  could 
never  hope  to  rival  Sicily," 

Her  brown  eyes  glowed  more  adoration  than 
her  words.  Robert,  advancing  towards  her  and 
taking  her  by  the  chin,  peered  into  their  depths 
with  a  perverse  smile  that  made  the  girl  quiver. 

"  Your  lips  drop  honey,"  he  said,  lightly.  "  But 
you  must  linger  for  your  reward.  I  kiss  out  of 
court  to-night." 

At  this  insolent  announcement  the  favorites 
exchanged  rapid  glances.  Faustina  spoke  first 
and  swiftly. 

"  One  smile  from  the  King's  eyes  is  sufficing 
payment  for  his  poor  servants." 

Messalinda  came  quickly  at  her  heels  with  no 
less  flagrant  humility. 

"To  be  honored  with  one  thought  of  the  great 
King's  mind  is  to  be  honored  above  the  need  of 
women." 

French  Yolande  was  less  politic.  Perhaps  she 
had  hoped  to  hold  the  King's  fancy  more  surely 

55 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

than  her  fellows.  She,  too,  winged  her  compliment, 
but  she  barbed  it  with  a  question. 

"Who  is  the  happiest  she  in  all  the  world?" 
she  asked.  "  Whom  does  the  King's  pleasure  con- 
secrate to-night?" 

Robert  smiled  enigmatically,  teasing  her  with 
his  eyes,  teasing  her  with  his  fan.  All  the  women 
leaned  forward  their  heads,  hoping  for  an  answer. 
Robert  let  his  gaze  travel  over  their  eager  faces 
and  laughed  aloud,  mockingly. 

"Sweet  creatures  of  prey,  I  will  not  tell  you 
this  secret,  for  if  you  knew  you  would  make  an 
end  of  her  between  you,  and  very  surely  I  would 
have  her  live  to  see  another  sunrise.  To-morrow, 
who  knows,  I  may  care  no  more,  and  then  you 
may  make  common  cause  against  her." 

He  yawned  slightly  behind  the  fan,  and  then 
made  a  little  gesture  of  dismissal,  which  sent  the 
three  women  scurrying  back  from  his  immediate 
presence  to  the  places  they  had  quitted  in  the 
courtly  ranks.  His  eyes,  quietly  indifferent,  trav- 
elled over  the  body  of  Church  dignitaries,  waiting 
patiently  till  he  should  be  pleased  to  tire  of  wom- 
en's talk  and  turn  to  them ;  his  gaze  rested  with 

56 


ROBERT    OF   SICILY 

no  show  of  interest  upon  the  gray  church  and  the 
great  effigy  of  the  archangel.  He  beckoned 
Hildebrand  to  his  side. 

"  Is  this  the  goal  of  our  generosity?"  he  asked, 
pointing  disdainfully  with  the  fan  to  the  sacred 
house.  Hildebrand  answered  with  deferential 
familiarity. 

"This  is  the  church  of  St.  Michael,  sire.  Your 
amiable  father  set  it  here  in  the  tenth  year  of 
your  life." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  have  heard  the  story,"  Robert  said, 
again  checking  a  desire  to  yawn.  "  My  excellent 
parent,  fretting  over  some  childish  sickness  that 
presumed  upon  our  person,  vowed  to  build  this 
shrine  to  his  patron  saint  if  I  recovered.  As  if 
such  men  as  I  ever  died  in  childhood!" 

Hildebrand  agreed,  obsequiously.  "May  the 
King  live  forever,"  he  murmured.  Robert  sur- 
veyed the  church  again  with  cold  disfavor. 

"Whoever  wrought  that  image,  wrought  it 
well,"  he  said.  "It  is  pity  to  think  of  so  much 
skill  and  so  much  good  metal  going  to  the  com- 
position of  a  mere  saint  that  might  have  moulded 
me  a  Venus." 

57 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Hildebrand  raised  his  hands  in  pitying  prot- 
estation against  the  folly  of  the  late  King. 

"Your  royal  father  was  something  weak  of 
wit,"  he  sneered.  Robert  sighed  commiser- 
atingly. 

"Poor  man,  he  meant  well,"  he  condescended. 
"Measured  by  our  standard  he  must  needs  seem 
puny — as,  indeed,  what  king  of  them  all,  Christian 
or  Pagan,  would  not?"  His  manner  so  far  had 
been  in  agreement  with  his  supple  companion,  but 
suddenly  a  change  came  over  his  temper,  and  he 
turned  on  Hildebrand  a  frown  so  coldly  menacing 
that  the  favorite  recoiled  in  surprise  and  alarm. 

"  Still,  he  had  the  honor  to  beget  me,"  he  added. 
"  So  you  will  do  well  not  to  speak  lightly  of  him, 
my  good  Hildebrand." 

The  embarrassed  favorite  tried  to  recover  his 
ground  and  his  composure. 

"Sire,  you  are  always  right,"  he  stammered. 
"The  tree  from  which  so  royal  a  rose  sprang — " 

Robert,  having  enjoyed  his  friend's  discom- 
fiture, was  now  weary  of  it,  and  interrupted  his 
apologies  with  a  raised  hand. 

"Enough,"  he  said,  and,  turning  from  Hilde- 
58 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

brand  in  the  direction  of  the  group  of  ecclesiastics, 
he  deigned  for  the  first  time  to  regard  them  as  if 
they  really  existed  and  were  not  mere  gorgeous 
puppets  set  up  there  as  portion  of  the  pageant 
of  his  pride.  The  archbishop  of  Syracuse  and  his 
fellows  had  waited  in  their  splendid  vestments  as 
patiently  for  any  sign  of  the  King's  favor  as  any 
light  lady  of  the  court,  and  this  slight  show  of  it 
served  to  stir  them  into  delighted  animation. 

Few  in  that  synod  of  slaves  had  served  the 
Church  in  the  days  of  Robert  the  Good.  In  his 
six-weeks'  reign,  Robert  the  Bad  had  worked 
wonders,  and  now  his  armies,  civil  and  ecclesiastic, 
were  generalled  by  his  servants  imported  from 
Naples.  Such  soldiers,  such  churchmen  as  had 
offered  opposition  to  his  imperious  humors  had 
been  either  banished  or  imprisoned,  or  at  the 
best  flung  from  their  offices  without  reward  or 
appeal,  and  the  young  Prince  had  both  sword  and 
crozier  at  his  absolute  command,  for  it  pleased 
Robert's  fancy  to  proclaim  himself  religious  as 
well  as  military  head  of  the  state,  to  whom  the 
proudest  of  prelates  was  no  more  and  no  less  a 
pawn  than  a  captain  of  the  guard. 

59 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Contempt  smiled  in  the  eyes  of  the  King  and 
on  his  lips  as  he  saw  the  new-made  archbishop 
of  Syracuse  move  eagerly  forward  in  response  to 
the  disdainful  gesture  which  told  him  that  the 
King  remembered  his  existence.  He  was  followed 
by  two  priests  who  bore  between  them  on  a  stand 
of  ebony  a  magnificent  reliquary,  a  masterpiece 
of  Byzantine  handicraft,  its  gold  and  jewels  glow- 
ing like  the  fires  of  fairyland  in  the  mellow  evening 
sunlight. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  archbishop,  "this  is  your  prince- 
ly gift  to  this  poor  temple ;  this  is  the  reliquary, 
fashioned  by  the  most  cunning  artificers  of  your 
realms,  rich  in  outward  seeming,  richer  still  in 
holding  in  its  core  the  precious  relics  of  a  saint." 

Robert  looked  at  the  reliquary  with  sufficient 
attention  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  as  magnifi- 
cent an  offering  as  his  pride  could  desire. 

"  It  is  a  pleasing  piece  of  work,"  he  said.  "  Look 
at  it,  ladies  fair;  there  be  jewels  here  as  bright  as 
your  eyes,  as  red  as  your  lips.  Truly,  I  shall  be 
famous  for  my  piety." 

He  turned  with  a  little  shrill  laugh  of  satis- 
faction to  the  three  women,  who  in  obedience  to 

60 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

the  invitation  of  his  speech  had  come  near  him 
and  were  gazing  in  greedy  admiration  at  the 
precious  vessel. 

"It  would  have  made  me  a  rare  jewel-box," 
Messalinda  sighed. 

"  I  would  have  made  it  a  casket  for  love-songs," 
Faustina  muttered. 

Yolande,  eager  to  be  quickest  in  saying  some- 
thing that  should  please  the  King,  looked  up 
reverentially  at  Robert. 

"Some  day,  sire,"  she  said,  "your  precious 
bones  will  be  so  shrined  and  worshipped." 

In  a  second  the  summer  of  the  King's  face 
lowered  to  storm  darkness,  and  he  turned  on 
Yolande  with  so  much  fury,  stretching  out  his 
hands  as  if  he  would  take  her  by  the  throat,  that 
the  girl  fell  back  in  a  panic  fear.  For  a  second  the 
King  could  not  speak  with  rage ;  his  lips  mouthed 
ineffective;  at  last  words  came  to  him. 

"How  dare  you  speak  to  me  of  death?"  he 
screamed  at  her.  "You  she-devil,  do  you  wish 
to  die  of  scourging?" 

The  fury  in  his  eyes,  the  fury  in  his  fury,  the 
fury  in  his  gestures,  transforming  him  so  swiftly 

6i 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

from  his  regal  civility  to  a  raging  animal,  palsied 
the  fair  girl's  limbs,  palsied  her  tongue. 

"Sire,"  she  stammered,  piteously,  "forgive — " 

She  could  say  no  more,  for  her  fear  choked  her, 
and  tears  raced  from  her  eyes.  Her  companions 
shrank  from  her  as  from  an  unclean  thing,  one 
blighted  by  this  fierce  show  of  the  King's  dis- 
favor. Robert,  by  a  violent  effort,  controlled  him- 
self to  composure.  His  arms  dropped  by  his  side, 
his  face  smoothed  again. 

"You  shall  weep  red  tears  for  this,  minion!" 
he  said  to  the  unhappy  girl,  and  turned  from  her 
again  to  regard  the  reliquary.  Yolande  slunk 
back  to  hide  herself  in  the  courtly  company,  and 
Faustina  and  Messalinda  regained  their  places. 

"The  fool!"  whispered  Faustina  to  Messalinda, 
with  a  glance  in  the  direction  where  Yolande 
sought  to  efface  herself — "to  hint  at  death  to  a 
king  who  would  like  to  believe  himself  immortal 
as  a  god." 

"Ay,"  retorted  Messalinda,  "  and  to  hint  it  now 
when  they  say  that  the  plague  creeps  abroad." 

Robert  now  addressed  the  obsequious  prelate: 
"My  lord  archbishop,  escort  this  coffer  into  the 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

chapel  and  give  your  ceremonial  rein.  Attend 
him,  lords  and  ladies,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
his  retinue;  "for  ourselves  we  will  linger  awhile 
in  this  sunlight,  having  some  thoughts  of  weight 
to  change  with  the  Lord  Hildebrand.  We  will 
bless  you  with  our  presence  by-and-by." 

Obedient  to  the  King's  somewhat  contemptuous 
dismissal,  all  those  that  had  accompanied  Robert 
to  the  summit  of  the  mountain  now  made  haste 
to  leave  him  alone  with  his  favorite.  Priests  and 
courtiers,  ladies  and  soldiers,  a  glittering  line, 
ascended  the  stone  steps  that  led  to  the  chapel 
and  disappeared  within  its  doors.  The  rear  of 
the  procession  was  brought  up  by  the  King's 
Varangian  body-guard,  under  the  captain,  Sigurd 
Olafson,  a  young  Norseman,  whose  yellow  hair  and 
bright  blue  eyes  made  him  a  conspicuous  figure  in 
the  thick  of  so  many  Southern  forms  and  faces. 

When  the  church  doors  had  closed  upon  the  last 
of  the  company,  Robert  turned  a  smiling  face 
upon  his  friend. 

"Do  you  think,  Hildebrand,"  he  questioned, 
"that  I  came  here  for  this  mummery  in  my 
father's  monument?" 

63 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"I  never  question  your  Majesty's  thoughts 
or  deeds,"  Hildebrand  answered,  deferentially. 
"They  are  oracles  and  miracles  to  your  slave." 

The  King's  face  yielded  a  ready  brightness  to  a 
flattery  that  never  staled. 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  true  purpose  instantly,"  he 
said.     "But  first  I  have  a  task  for  you." 

He  took  Hildebrand  by  the  arm  and  drew  him 
through  the  first  fringe  of  the  pine  wood  to  the 
space  where  Theron's  home  stood,  the  mosque 
with  its  circle  of  pillars. 

"What  do  you  see?"  he  asked. 

Hildebrand  eyed  the  two  beautiful  ruins  with 
frank  indifference. 

"Some  pagan  pillars,"  he  answered,  "and 
the  praying -place  of  the  followers  of  Ma- 
homet." 

"It  is  to  my  mind  a  lovelier  shrine  than  the 
gaudy  box  we  have  just  been  gaping  at,"  Robert 
said;  and  then  went  on,  answering  the  surprise 
in  his  companion's  face:  "You  shall  learn  why 
by-and-by.  In  the  mean  time  know  that  it  is 
the  dwelling  of  Theron  the  executioner." 

"Theron  the  executioner?"  said  Hildebrand. 
64 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

"  I  thought  your  honest  father  had  no  use  for 
such  shedders  of  blood." 

"In  the  very  madness  of  truth,  he  had  not," 
Robert  answered.  "So  this  rogue  has  rusted 
here  idly  through  a  generation  of  eating  and 
sleeping.  Very  likely  his  sword  is  grown  with 
ivy.  But  now  he  must  stretch  his  sinews,  now 
he  must  scour  his  scimitar,  now  he  begins  to  be 
briskly  busy." 

Robert  drew  from  his  thumb  his  massive  gold 
signet-ring  and  handed  it  to  Hildebrand. 

"  Knock  at  his  door.  Show  him  my  signet- 
ring  and  tell  him  to  speed  at  once  to  Syracuse,  to 
my  palace,  for  the  beheading  of  my  court-fool." 

Hildebrand,  weighing  the  great  ring  in  the  cup 
of  his  hand,  stared  at  his  master. 

"Have  you  caught  the  runagate?"  he  ques- 
tioned, "and  do  you,  indeed,  mean  to  divide 
him  so  dismally?" 

"I  have  not  caught  him  yet,"  said  the  King, 
with  a  frown;  "but  when  I  do  I  will  halve  him 
and  set  up  his  head  on  a  spear  in  Syracuse  market- 
place, as  a  warning  to  all  who  cross  my  pleasure." 

Robert  emphasized  the  word  "all"  so  un- 
s  65 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

pleasantly  that  Hildebrand  hastened  to  excuse 
himself  from  any  suspicion  of  sympathy  with  the 
offending  jester. 

"You  may  carve  him  into  cutlets,  for  all  I 
care,"  he  said.  "He  was  a  ribald  thing,  and 
deserves  no  pity." 

He  advanced  towards  the  mosque  as  he  spoke, 
while  Robert  screened  himself  from  view  behind 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  ruined  temple. 

As  the  fist  of  Hildebrand  beat  upon  the  door 
of  the  dwelling,  the  voice  of  Theron  answered 
from  within:  "Who  knocks?" 

"Open  in  the  King's  name!"  Hildebrand  cried, 
imperiously.  He  could  hear  the  voice  of  Theron 
inside  repeat  his  words :  "  '  In  the  King's  name !' " 

In  another  moment  Theron  opened  the  door 
and  came  out,  closing  it  carefully  behind  him. 

"Who  calls  me  in  the  King's  name?"  he  asked, 
gazing  in  astonishment  at  the  brilliant  youth  who 
had  summoned  him. 

"  I  am  the  Lord  Hildebrand,  the  King's  friend," 
Hildebrand  answered,  impatiently,  holding  out 
the  ring.  "Here  is  the  King's  signet.  He  bids 
you  by  my  lips  that  you  gather  up  your  great 

66 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

sword  and  go  to  Syracuse  with  what  speed  you 
may,  for  he  has  work  for  you." 

Theron  gave  a  heavy  groan. 

"Work  for  me?"  he  echoed. 

"Ay,  work  for  you!"  Hildebrand  retorted. 
"You  have  been  idle  a  great  while,  gaffer,  but 
your  age-long  holiday  dies  to-day.  We  are  no 
longer  in  the  reign  of  King  Robert  the  Foolish." 

Theron  shook  his  head  in  protest. 

"King  Robert  the  Good,"  he  murmured. 

Hildebrand  reiterated  his  nickname  with  a  sneer : 

"King  Robert  the  Foolish!  King  Robert  the 
Wise  means  to  begin  his  reign  by  beheading  his 
court-fool  as  an  example  to  all  other  fools  and 
courtiers.  So  bustle,  man;  bring  out  your  blade 
and  be  off." 

Theron  turned  away  with  a  gesture  of  sorrow. 

"King  Robert  the  Bad!"  he  said,  beneath  his 
breath.  Then  he  entered  his  hut  again  and  passed 
to  an  inner  room,  where  Perpetua  sat  spinning. 
As  she  looked  up  he  laid  his  finger  on  his  lip. 

"I  am  called  to  Syracuse,"  he  said.  "Bolt 
doors  and  bar  windows.  Make  all  fast  and  firm. 
Open  to  none  till  I  return." 

67 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Why,  who  should  come?"  Perpetua  asked, 
pausing  in  her  work.  Her  clear  eyes  saw  the 
trouble  in  her  father's  face,  but  she  did  not  seek 
its  cause,  for  he  had  laid  finger  on  lip. 

Theron  shivered  as  if  cold.  "  I  do  not  know," 
he  said.     "Open  to  none." 

Perpetua  rose  and  rested  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"You  speak  as  if  you  feared  something,"  she 
whispered. 

And  Theron  whispered  back,  "  Perhaps  I  do.'' 

Perpetua  shook  her  head,  and  the  flame  of  het 
hair  rippled  over  her  shoulders. 

"  God's  will  rules  the  world.  There  is  nothing 
to  fear.     Farewell,  dear  father." 

Theron  took  her  face  in  his  two  brown,  wrinkled 
hands  and  kissed  it  tenderly. 

"Farewell,  eaglet,"  he  sighed.  Then  he  left 
her  and  went  into  the  open,  bearing  the  great 
sword,  that  seemed  to  gleam  crimson  with  the 
sunlight.  He  closed  the  door  behind  him  care- 
fully, and  was  making  for  the  mountain -path, 
when  Hildebrand  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Is  that  the  headsman's  weapon  ?  'Tis  a  pretty 
68 


ROBERT    OF    SICILY 

piece  of  steel.     Can  your  withered  sinews  still 
wield  it?" 

Theron  looked  at  his  interrogator  with  a  frown 
of  disdain  for  his  foppery. 

"  I  doubt  if  you  could  do  as  much,  younker," 
he  growled. 

Hildebrand  only  laughed. 

"  Do  you  think  because  I  am  feathered  like  a 
bird-of-paradise  that  I  have  no  sap  in  me?  Let 
me  handle  your  chin-chopper." 

Still  smiling,  he  took  the  sword  from  Theron, 
who  watched  him  contemptuously.  Hildebrand, 
to  his  surprise,  lifted  the  sword  easily  with  one 
hand,  played  with  it  as  if  it  were  no  heavier  than 
a  staff  of  wood,  threw  it  lightly  from  his  right  hand 
to  his  left  hand  and  back  again,  and  then  returned 
it  to  Theron,  from  whose  face  contempt  had 
vanished. 

"  'Tis  finely  poised,"  Hildebrand  commented, 
"but  something  light  for  its  purpose;  yet  it  will 
serve  its  turn.     Away!" 

"Do  you  accompany  me?"  Theron  asked,  with 
more  respect  than  he  had  yet  shown  to  the  King's 
man. 

69 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Hildebrand  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  I,  old  man.  I  say  a  prayer  or  two  in  the 
chapel  by  the  side  of  my  liege  lord  that  I  may  re- 
turn with  a  smooth  soul  to  Syracuse.  Farewell." 
He  turned  away  and  walked  tow^ards  the  chapel. 

Shouldering  his  sword,  the  old  man  tramped 
down  the  moimtain  towards  the  city. 


IV 

THE    HUNTER 

When  he  was  well  on  his  way  the  King  came 
quietly  out  of  the  wood  and  approached  his 
favorite. 

"Was  there  ever  a  greater  king  than  I,  Hilde- 
brand?"  he  asked. 

"Never  since  sun-birth,"  Hildebrand  respond- 
ed, with  glib  emphasis.  "The  glory  of  Solomon, 
the  sword  of  Csesar,  the  beauty  of  Adonis,  the 
lyre  of  Orpheus,  the  strength  of  Hercules,  the 
grace  of  Apollo,  the  sum  of  all  possibilities — God- 
man,  or  man-God,  what  shall  our  poor  lips  call 
you?"  He  made  the  monarch  a  profound  obei- 
sance, too  profound  to  permit  Robert  to  see  the 
mockery  shining  in  his  eyes. 

The  monarch  drank  the  delicious  draught  with 
more  than  royal  gravity  as  he  answered : 

"You  are  a  wise  man.  But  if  I  have  immortal 
71 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

merits,  I  have  very  mortal  desires.  This  is  not 
the  first  time  that  I  have  cUmbed  to  these 
summits." 

Hildebrand  had  raised  his  head,  and  mockery 
had  given  ground  to  surprise. 

"  Indeed,  sire?"  he  asked.  The  King  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  musing  on  sweet  memories,  and 
when  he  spoke  it  was  with  smiling  lips. 

"  My  honest  father,  worthy  man,  forbade  hunt- 
ing in  these  happy  hills,  which  gave  me  an  itch 
to  beat  their  coverts.  Last  week,  while  you  were 
away  at  Naples,  I  rode  in  these  hills  till  I  could 
ride  no  longer,  left  my  horse,  lost  my  way,  till 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  forest  I  met  a  girl — indeed, 
at  first  my  joy  mistook  her  for  a  goddess." 

"  Was  she  so  fair?"  Hildebrand  asked,  question- 
ing rather  the  delight  on  Robert's  face  than  the 
weight  of  Robert's  words. 

And  Robert  answered  him  eagerly,  hotly : 

"I  tell  you,  Hildebrand,  the  loveliest  I  ever 
saw.  No  wonder  that  the  antique  world  called 
Venus  Erycina,  if  in  the  island  where  Eryx  rears 
its  crest  such  wonderful  women  still  tread  the 
earth  with  goddess  feet." 

72 


THE    HUNTER 

Hildebrand  repeated  his  question.  "Was  she 
so  fair?" 

There  was  a  rapture  on  Robert's  face  as  he 
answered : 

"  Naples  is  a  very  rose-garden  of  radiant  women, 
but  this  wild  rose  of  the  woods  was  as  far  above 
them  as  I  am  above  other  men.  She  gave  me 
drink  from  a  fountain,  lifting  it  to  me  in  a  cool, 
green  leaf,  and  the  clear  water  was  sweeter  than 
wine  of  Cyprus  and  headier  than  wine  of  Hungary, 
and  I  drank  delicious  madness." 

A  smile  puckered  Hildebrand's  lips. 

"Did  you  pluck  this  wild  rose  of  the  woods?" 
he  asked.  « 

Robert  shook  his  head,  but  there  was  no  look 
of  regret  in  his  eyes  or  sound  of  regret  in  his 
voice. 

"No,  no,  no!  Oh,  not  then,  not  yet!  There 
are  pleasures  of  Tantalus  as  well  as  pains  of 
Tantalus.  Had  I  told  her  I  was  the  King,  she 
would  have  flung  herself  into  my  arms  and  there 
would  have  been  a  workaday  end  to  the  wonder. 
No.  I  lingered  and  sipped  at  sweet  desires.  I 
masqued  and   ambled  Arcady  for  her;  was  no 

73 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

more  than  I  seemed,  a  simple  hunter;  flattered 
her  with  honest  boy-babble,  said  her  farewell  with 
a  low  sweep  of  my  cap,  and  left  her  with  a  new 
happiness  in  my  heart,  the  happiness  of  an  un- 
satisfied longing,  an  imanswered  ache.  If  your 
school-boy  w^ere  ever  an  epicure,  he  would  some- 
times leave  the  queen  apples  of  the  orchard  un- 
fingered." 

"Is  this  the  end  of  the  idyl?"  Hildebrand 
asked,  quietly,  when  the  King  had  run  to  the 
end  of  his  rhapsody.  Again  Robert  shook  his 
head. 

"You  are  a  traitor,  Hildebrand,  to  think  such 
treason  of  your  King.  What  of  the  wisdom  of 
Solomon?  I  am  of  the  mind  of  the  ungodly,  and 
let  no  flow^er  of  the  spring  go  by  me.  But  I  have 
lived  an  exquisite  week — sunlight  and  starlight  I 
have  dreamed  dreams.  In  other  arms  I  have 
sighed  divinely  for  my  dryad;  but  I  know  she 
wall  prove  rarer  than  my  most  adorable  guesses. 
That  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow?"  Hildebrand  asked. 

Robert  laughed  joyously  as  he  pointed  to 
Theron's  dwelling. 

74 


THE    HUNTER 

"She  lives  here,  Hildebrand.  She  is  the 
daughter  of  Theron  the  executioner." 

Hildebrand  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Fie!  A 
vile  parentage!"  he  protested. 

"I  am  like  Midas,"  Robert  retorted.  "All  I 
touch  turns  to  gold.  My  love  will  make  her 
flesh  imperial  as  a  pope's  niece  and  her  rags  as 
purple  as  Caesar's  mantle." 

Hildebrand  smiled  admiration. 

"  I  have  seldom  seen  your  Majesty  so  enam- 
oured," he  said. 

Robert  put  his  arm  affectionately  round  his 
companion's  neck. 

"  I  tell  you,  Hildebrand,"  he  said,  earnestly, 
"my  heart  sings  as  it  has  never  sung  since  its 
earliest  love-flutter.  I  feel  like  a  stainless  god 
in  a  sacred  garden,  listening  for  the  first  time  to 
the  dear  madness  of  the  nightingale.  No  subtle 
Neapolitan  ever  stirred  me  as  this  wood-nymph 
does  with  her  flaming  hair  and  her  frank  eyes. 
No  wonder  the  old  gods  loved  mortal  women,  if 
they  knew  my  royal  joy  with  this  child  of  earth. 
Into  the  church,  man,  and  leave  me  to  my 
wooing!" 

75 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Hildebrand  responded  to  the  release  of  Robert's 
arm,  and  the  impatient  gesture  of  dismissal  that 
followed,  by  a  reverential  salutation,  which  Robert 
suddenly  interrupted. 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  do  as  I 
bade  you,  and  bring  a  hunter's  cloak  with  you?" 

Hildebrand  bowed.  "  I  hid  it  behind  yonder 
fallen  pillar,"  he  said,  and,  going  to  the  spot,  he 
returned  to  the  King  bearing  a  large,  green  cloak, 
which  the  King  threw  over  his  shoulders  and 
gathered  about  his  arms  so  as  to  muffle  his  royal 
bravery. 

"  I  woo  as  the  hunter,  not  as  the  King,"  he  said. 

Hildebrand  bowed  again.  Then,  turning,  he 
climbed  the  hill  that  led  to  the  church.  Robert's 
eyes  followed  him  till  the  doors  of  the  church 
had  closed  upon  his  minister.  Then  with  swift, 
noiseless  steps  he  sped  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and,  pausing  before  the  dwelling  of  Perpetua, 
knocked  lightly  at  the  door  and  listened  eagerly 
for  answ^er.  He  could  hear  a  sound  as  of  an  inner 
door  being  opened,  of  light  footsteps  crossing  an 
intervening  space;  then  his  answer  came  in  the 
voice  of  Perpetua. 

76 


THE    HUNTER 

"Who  is  there?"  Perpetua  called  through  the 
door.  She  was  wondering  at  this  sudden  fulfil- 
ment of  her  father's  fears,  but  she  felt  no  fear 
herself.  Instantly  a  voice  outside  whispered  her 
name: 

' '  Perpetua !     Perpetua ! ' ' 

The  words  came  so  softly  through  the  closed 
door  that  they  might  have  been  uttered  by  any 
one.  But  she  was  conscious  of  a  stirring  at  her 
heart  as  she  asked  anew: 

"Who  calls?" 

This  time  the  response  came  clearly,  in  the  un- 
mistakable voice. 

"A  certain  hunter,"  Robert  said;  and  at  the 
sound  a  passion  of  memory  conquered  her,  banish- 
ing her  father's  cautions. 

Robert  could  hear  her  give  a  little,  glad  cry. 
He  could  hear  the  sound  of  a  bolt  being  shot 
back;  then  the  door  opened  and  Perpetua  came 
out  into  the  sunlight.  Her  eyes  were  very  bright, 
her  hands  extended  in  welcome.  He  drew  back 
a  little  in  delight  at  her  beauty,  and  she  advanced 
to  him  joyously. 

"You  have  come  back?"  she  said. 

77 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Robert  caught  her  outstretched  hands. 

"How  could  I  keep  away?"  he  asked,  looking 
into  her  eyes  that  mirrored  his. 

She  drew  her  hands  away  and  spoke  softly. 

"  I  dreamed  that  you  would  come  back.  With 
my  eyes  open  and  with  my  eyes  shut,  I  dreamed 
that  you  would  come  back." 

Robert's  heart  leaped  at  her  speech. 

"Are  you  glad  to  see  me?"  he  questioned, 
tenderly. 

The  girl  responded  with  the  frankness  of  a  child. 

"Very  glad.  I  liked  you  much  that  day  when 
we  met  in  the  woods  hollow,  and  those  whom  I 
like  I  am  always  glad  to  greet." 

Robert  took  her  hand  again,  and  this  time  she 
suffered  him  to  hold  it  for  a  little,  imresisting,  as 
he  led  her  to  where  a  fallen  column  at  the  edge 
of  the  pine  wood  offered  a  noble  throne. 

"Would  you  have  grieved  if  I  had  not  come 
again?"  he  asked  her,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  and 
the  girl  answered,  simply : 

"Much,  for  my  own  sake  and  for  yours." 

"For  mine,  too,  maiden?"  Robert  asked,  won- 
dering at  her  words. 

78 


THE    HUNTER 

Perpetua  shook  back  her  mane  of  flame. 

"Yes,  for  you  said  you  would  come,  and  truth 
is  the  best  thing  in  the  world." 

If  she  had  seemed  adorable  before  in  the  green 
heart  of  the  ancient  wood,  she  seemed  many 
times  more  adorable  now  to  the  hot  eyes  of  the 
man  as  she  sat  there  so  quietly,  speaking  so 
frankly,  looking  at  him  so  frankly.  He  would 
linger  no  more  over  this  sweet  preface  of  pleasure. 
He  asked  her  eagerly : 

"Shall  I  tell  you  the  best  truth  in  the  world? 
I  love  you." 

The  girl's  calm  eyes  studied  his  flushed  face 
gravely. 

"Love  is  the  greatest  truth  or  the  greatest  lie 
in  the  world.  We  have  met  but  twice.  Can 
you  love  so  quickly?" 

The  fierce  desire  which  the  King  called  love 
clamored  for  interpretation.  Robert  spoke  swift- 
ly, warmly,  feeding  his  greedy  eyes  with  her 
beauty. 

"When  I  drank  the  white  water  from  your 
hands,  I  drank  love  with  it.  When  I  looked  into 
your  glorious  eyes  love  leaped  from  them,   all 

79 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

armed,  and  conquered  me.  The  wood  wind  blew 
one  tress  of  your  red  hair  across  my  face  and  the 
red  flame  of  love  ran  through  my  veins  and  burned 
out  all  memories  save  only  the  memory  of  your 
face.  I  would  lose  a  kingdom  to  kiss  you  on 
the  lips.  I  would  surrender  the  power  and  the 
glory  to  be  kissed  upon  the  lips  by  you." 

He  made  as  if  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  but  in  a 
moment  she  eluded  him  with  the  quickness  of 
some  forest  creature.  She  had  risen  and  was 
standing  at  a  little  distance  before  he  realized 
that  his  longing  arms  clasped  emptiness. 

"You  speak  with  the  speech  of  angels," 
Perpetua  said,  speaking  low;  "wonderful  words 
that  shine  like  little  stars,  that  make  me  tremble 
as  if  they  were  little  flames  that  played  about 
me."  She  paused  for  a  moment  as  if  thoughts 
troubled  her;  then  went  on:  "And  yet  I  think 
you  say  too  much.  All  I  should  ask  of  my  lover 
would  be  but  a  true  heart  and  a  true  hand," 

Anger  strove  with  admiration  on  Robert's 
cheeks  and  in  his  eyes.  He  was  untrained  to 
any  cross,  and  the  composure  with  which  the  girl 
at  once  accepted  and  held  off  his  homage  galled 

8i 


THE    HUNTER 

him.  But  he  curbed  his  irritation,  remembering 
himself  as  the  beseeching  hunter,  not  as  the 
commanding  King. 

Quitting  the  column,  he  came  to  where  she 
stood.  She  did  not  move,  but  she  did  not  take 
his  offered  hand,  and  he  let  it  fall  idly  by  his  side, 
while  he  tried  to  overcrow  her  with  his  bold 
eyes. 

"  You  have  never  loved  or  you  would  not  reason 
so,"  he  argued.  "Let  me  look  into  your  eyes. 
I  think  you  love  me  a  little." 

He  was  very  close  to  her  now,  but  she  did  not 
surrender  to  his  lips  or  his  eyes.  A  kind  of 
wonder  was  growing  in  her  face,  but  she  met  his 
gaze  as  firmly  as  she  answered  his  words. 

"  I  have  never  loved,  and  yet  I  know  what  love 
might  be.  The  spring  wind  sighs  in  these  forests, 
and  the  nightingales  are  my  friends.  Though  I 
know  only  of  the  world  by  hearsay,  I  know  that 
men  and  women  have  done  great  things  for  love's 
sake,  and  are  remembered  with  songs  and  tears. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  love." 

Her  eyes  were  smiling  as  she  spoke.  Life 
seemed  clear  and  easy  to  her.     Life  seemed  clear 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

and  easy  to  her  suitor;  but  his  clarity,  his  ease, 
were  not  those  of  the  mountain  maid,  and  he  mis- 
understood her,  weighing  her  soul  in  false  scales. 
He  wooed  her  now  with  a  low,  triumphant 
challenge. 

"I  believe  you  love  me  a  little." 

She  baffled  his  challenge  by  her  immediate 
frankness.  The  powers  of  life  were  not  to  be 
denied  in  shyness  by  a  child  who  might  have 
been  a  nymph  of  Artemis. 

"  I  think  I  might  love  you  a  great  deal.  I  will 
love  you  with  all  my  heart  if  you  know  how  to 
win  me.  I  will  surrender  my  soul  to  my  true  lord 
and  lover  when  he  comes." 

Her  eyes  softened  as  she  made  her  sweet  con- 
fession, and  his  cheeks  burned  to  hear  her.  But 
her  purity  only  tempted  him  without  touch- 
ing him.  Again  he  made  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms. 

"He  has  come.  Kiss  me.  Perpetual"  he  cried, 
exultingly ;  but  she  flitted  from  his  reach  as  subtly 
as  a  shadow  shifting  with  the  sun,  and  there  was 
command  in  her  voice  as  she  motioned  to  him  to 
hold  aloof. 

82 


THE    HUNTER 

"Wait!  I  am  not  to  be  won  in  a  whirlwind. 
Great  love  is  gentle  love,  hunter." 

He  could  have  cursed  at  her  for  avoiding  him, 
yet  the  avoidance  spurred  him  to  succeed,  and 
his  words  were  tender  as  caresses. 

"When  I  clasp  you  in  my  arms  you  will  forget 
to  be  so  wise." 

The  fair  girl  knitted  her  brows  in  a  frown  at 
his  overboldness.  For  his  life  the  King  could  not 
tell  why  he  refrained  from  again  attempting  to 
embrace  her — and  yet  he  did  refrain,  standing  and 
listening  while  she  reproved  him,  and  to  his  ears 
there  seemed  to  be  something  of  irony  and  some- 
thing of  mirth  in  her  smooth,  cool  tones. 

"  Then  you  shall  not  clasp  me  in  your  arms  till 
I  am  sure  of  myself  and  you." 

Robert  wrestled  with  an  unwelcome  sense  of 
reverence.  Surely  it  was  madness  to  be  baffled 
by  a  country  maid.  He  held  out  his  comely 
hands,  he  commanded  every  appealing  intonation 
of  his  musical  voice. 

"  Child,"  he  cried,  "  you  shall  not  deny  me  now. 
I  am  your  hunter,  sweet,  and  you  my  quarry. 
Be  happy,  being  mine." 

83 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

He  moved  upon  her  as  he  spoke,  trusting  to 
charm  her  with  the  spell  of  speech  that  never  yet 
had  known  defeat.  But  the  girl  stretched  out 
her  hand  to  stay  him,  and  he  paused,  angry  and 
yet  curious  to  see  how  far  she  would  carry  con- 
tradiction. 

"Stand  back!"  she  said.  "I  am  not  afraid  of 
love.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  But  your  voice 
is  not  the  voice  of  the  woods,  and  your  eyes  shine 
with  another  light.     You  cannot  snare  me  so." 

He  saw  that  she  distrusted  him;  he  saw  that 
she  did  not  fear  him;  he  knew  that  he  had  not 
won  her,  yet  believed  himself  near  to  the  winning. 

"  If  you  love  me — "  Robert  cried. 

The  girl  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  wide  sky 
in  protest. 

"If  I  love  you!"  Her  arms  dropped  to  her 
sides  and  she  continued,  sadly,  "  I  have  dreamed 
of  you  very  often,  but  I  never  dreamed  of  you 
thus." 

"All  lovers  love  fiercely,"  Robert  insisted,  pas- 
sionately. 

Perpetua  shook  her  head.  "  I  do  not  believe 
you." 

84 


THE    HUNTER 

Chafing  to  find  himself  so  powerless  to  soften 
her,  Robert  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"Ah !"  he  sighed,  "  we  waste  irrevocable  seconds 
that  should  be  spent  in  kisses," 

Perpetua  moved  a  little  closer  to  him.  The 
man's  pain  in  his  voice  stirred  the  woman's  pity 
in  her  heart,  and  she  spoke  more  tenderly  than 
she  had  spoken  for  some  time. 

"Hunter,  if  you  love  me,  you  shall  tell  my 
father  your  tale  and  he  will  be  your  friend  as  he 
is  mine,  and  we  will  marry  and  live  and  die  in 
the  woodland." 

She  stood  before  him,  beautiful  as  the  living 
image  of  a  goddess  offering  herself  to  a  mortal 
with  Olympian  simplicity.  So  might  (Enone  have 
willed  to  wed  with  Paris.  Robert  stared  at  her, 
amazed,  confounded. 

"I  cannot  marry  you,"  he  protested.  "You 
are  the  executioner's  daughter." 

Now,  indeed,  the  warm  color  of  her  cheeks 
grew  warmer  and  her  eyes  darkened  with  indig- 
nation. 

"  My  father  is  a  good  and  honest  man,  but  were 
I  the  child  of  a  robber,  were  I  a  fosterling  of  a 

85 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

wolf  of  the  woods,  I  am  a  woman — the  woman 
you  say  you  love." 

Robert  waved  her  words  away  disdainfully, 
peevishly. 

"  I  cannot  marry  you." 

Perpetua's  cheeks  paled  and  her  lips  quivered 
a  little,  and  her  eyes  were  moist  beneath  their 
lowered  lids,  but  she  answered  him  as  firmly  as 
before  and  more  sadly. 

"Good-bye,  then.  I  am  not  sorry  you  came, 
for  I  cherish  sweet  thoughts  of  you,  but  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  you  go." 

She  turned  as  if  to  glide  into  the  woods,  but 
Robert  stayed  her,  calling  to  her  in  a  voice  of 
loud  command. 

"I  will  not  lose  you!"  he  cried.  "If  I  cannot 
win  you  as  the  simple  hunter,  I  will  command 
you  as  the  King.     I  am  Robert  of  Sicily." 

As  he  spoke  he  slipped  the  green  mantle  from 
his  arms  and  shoulders,  flung  it  from  him,  and 
stood  before  her  in  the  royal  garments  of  the  King. 
Perpetua  gazed  in  astonishment  at  the  rich  habit, 
at  splendor  such  as  she  had  never  seen. 

"You  are  the  King?"  she  whispered. 
86 


THE    HUNTER 

Robert  answered  proudly,  confident  now  of  re- 
ward. 

"I  am,  indeed,  the  King." 

Perpetua  looked  on  him  with  the  same  fear- 
less honor  wherewith  she  would  have  faced  some 
monster  in  the  forest. 

"  If  you  are  the  King,  what  have  you  to  do 
with  me?"  she  asked. 

Robert  answered  her  joyously,  passionately. 

"You  shall  be  my  loveliest  mistress  now,  my 
loveliest  memory  forever."  But  even  as  he  spoke 
the  fire  in  his  blood  was  chilled  by  the  scorn  and 
wrath  in  Perpetua 's  eyes. 

"God  pity  and  God  pardon  you,"  she  prayed. 
"You  are  called  Robert  the  Bad  by  honest  men. 
Be  called  so  always  by  clean  women!"  Her  out- 
stretched right  hand  seemed  to  hurl  her  impreca- 
tion into  his  brain.     Blind  fury  seized  upon  him. 

"You  play  the  fool  with  me!"  he  said,  and 
advanced  upon  her  only  to  recoil  as  she  slipped 
her  hand  to  her  girdle  and  drew  the  long,  keen 
knife  that  rested  there. 

"  Keep  away  from  me!"  she  warned  him.  "  For 
I  am  strong  and  young,  and  I  might  kill  you." 

87 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Her  face  was  pitifully  pale  now  in  its  great  sorrow, 
but  the  determination  in  her  eyes  menaced  more 
than  steel. 

"I  think  I  could  master  you,"  Robert  sneered, 
but  he  kept  his  place,  watching  her. 

"Then  you  should  kill  me,"  Perpetua  sighed. 
"And  that  might  be  best,  for  you  have  destroyed 
my  beautiful  dream." 

She  turned  as  she  spoke,  and,  casting  her 
weapon  from  her,  to  fall  upon  the  soft  grass,  she 
ran  into  the  wood.  For  a  moment  the  King  stood 
still,  stupidly  conscious  of  the  humming  of  the 
bees,  stupidly  staring  after  the  flying  child.  Then 
he  stirred  himself  into  pursuit,  cr\dng,  "Stay, 
fool,  stay!"  but  desisted  instantly,  for  the  girl 
was  as  fleet  as  a  fawn,  and  could  run  surely  where 
his  feet  would  stumble.  Already  she  was  out  of 
sight  in  the  thick  of  the  trees. 

"  Go,  fool,  go!"  he  shouted.  "  If  you  are  crazy 
enough  to  repel  greatness!"  And  flinging  him- 
self upon  the  fallen  column,  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands  to  keep  back  the  bitter  tears. 


V 

LYCABETTA 

Lying  there  in  his  wild  rage,  he  babbled  to  him- 
self. 

"Am  I  mad?  Shall  I,  vSicily,  be  defied  by  this 
cold  Amazon  ?  She  shall  burn  as  a  witch  for  this ; 
she  shall  burn !  She  has  put  some  spell  upon  me, 
and  she  shall  burn  for  my  burning.  I  would  not 
have  her  now,  but  she  shall  die  in  pain." 

Drowned  in  his  frenzy  of  thwarted  passion  and 
baffled  anger,  the  King  was  unaware  that  a  wom- 
an had  entered  the  open  space  from  the  mountain- 
path,  and  was  moving  with  light  steps  across  the 
grasses  towards  the  spot  where  he  sat  and  ate 
his  heart.  The  new-comer  was  beautiful  with  a 
beauty  so  different  from  that  of  the  girl  whose 
kingdom  was  the  hill-top  that  few  to  whom  the 
one  seemed  perfect  would  have  found  the  other 
all-conquering  fair.     Tall  and  imperious  as  some 

89 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

evil  empress  of  old  Rome,  her  black  hair  bound 
with  ivy  leaves  of  gold,  her  fine  body  draped  in 
strangely  dyed  silks  —  snake  -  colored,  blue  and 
green  and  golden-scaled — that  shot  a  shimmering 
iridescence  with  every  movement  of  the  limbs, 
whose  whiteness  their  transparency  rather  be- 
trayed than  veiled,  she  trod  the  earth  with  such 
an  air  as  Balkis  may  have  worn  when  she  came 
a-visiting  Solomon.  The  painters  of  the  antique 
world  would  have  welcomed  in  that  voluptuous 
flesh,  in  the  poppy  of  her  mouth,  in  the  midnight 
of  those  eyes  that  glowed  with  the  fires  of  Thessa- 
lian  incantations,  their  ideal  for  some  image  of  the 
goddess  of  all-conquering  desire.  The  Sophists 
of  the  antique  world  would  have  read  her  story 
charactered  in  every  lithe  line,  in  every  appealing 
motion,  and  saluted  in  her  the  priestess  of  sheer 
appetite,  for  whom  the  gods  were  dead,  indeed, 
yet  living  in  their  material  form — Dionysus  as 
wine.  Aphrodite  as  the  act  of  love,  Apollo  as  the 
kindling  sunlight. 

As  Balkis  came  to  seek  Solomon,  so  this  woman 
came  to  the  mountain  -  summit  seeking  a  king. 
But  she  had  thought  to  greet  him  coming  out  of 

90 


LYCABETTA 

the  gray  church,  and  it  was  with  a  start  of 
surprise  that  she  saw  the  gUttering  figure  crouched 
in  an  attitude  of  woe  upon  the  fallen  column,  and 
recognized  in  that  image  of  abasement  the  Prince 
of  Naples,  the  young  lord  of  Sicily.  Swiftly,  but 
with  the  stately  grace  of  those  who  of  old  time 
moved  and  allured  in  the  streets  of  Rome  when 
the  feast  of  Flora  was  towards,  she  passed  through 
the  thick  grasses  to  the  column  and  the  King. 
She  knew  it  was  he  by  his  habit,  by  the  familiar 
form,  though  she  could  not  see  his  face,  and  she 
wondered  why  he  sat  there  alone  and  with  such 
show  of  grief.  She  was  by  his  side  without  his 
hearing  her,  and  it  was  not  until  she  spoke  that 
he  knew  of  her  presence. 

"My  lord!"  she  said,  softly,  in  a  voice  as  sweet 
as  the  voices  of  the  women  who  sang  the  praises 
of  the  mystic  Venus  in  the  secret  gardens  of 
Cyrene. 

Robert  jerked  his  head  from  his  hands,  startled 
to  find  that  he  was  no  longer  alone,  but,  when  he 
saw  who  it  was  that  had  interrupted  his  medita- 
tions, wonder  and  joy  contended  in  his  coun- 
tenance. 

91 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Lycabetta!"  he  cried;  "  Lycabetta,  by  the 
gods!  Why  is  the  priestess  of  love  on  these 
summits?" 

Lycabetta  had  dropped  on  her  knees  at  his  feet 
in  Oriental  abasement,  but  her  face  was  raised 
to  his  and  her  eyes  were  lamps  of  passion. 

"Sire,"  she  sighed.  "If  I  disturb  your 
Majesty's  quiet,  sign  and  I  will  retire." 

Robert,  bending  to  her,  caught  her  by  the 
shoulders,  and,  lifting  her  to  her  feet,  kissed  her 
mouth. 

"No,  no!"  he  cried.  "Stay,  fair  priestess  of 
the  ungovernable  flesh.  What  brought  you 
here?" 

Lycabetta  knitted  her  white  fingers  together 
beseechingly. 

"Your  Majesty  is  a  most  Christian  king.  Will 
you  promise  me  your  pardon  if  I  confess  to  a 
pagan  superstition?" 

Robert  kissed  her  again  and  laughed.  Her 
trained  senses  knew  the  unreality  of  his  kisses, 
of  the  words  with  which  he  answered  her. 

"Exquisite  idol,  I  could  pardon  you  much  for 
the  sake  of  your  kisses.     What  bountiful  wind 


LYCABETTA 

has  blown  you  to  the  height  of  this  Sicilian 
hillock?" 

Lycabetta  answered  him  humbly,  the  false 
humility  enhancing  her  exuberant  beauty. 

"  When  I  and  my  women  followed  your  Majesty 
from  Naples  —  for  what  could  such  poor  sun- 
flowers as  we  are  do  without  our  sun? — I  learned 
that  on  this  hill  there  stood  long  ago  a  temple  to 
Venus,  very  propitious  to  women  of  my  kind,  who 
came  and  prayed  there.  Your  father  suffered  no 
daughters  of  delight  to  ply  their  trade  in  Syracuse, 
and  so  in  gratitude  for  our  happy  restoration  I 
came  to  kneel  in  the  ancient,  sacred  dust.  My 
litter  bore  me  part  of  the  way,  till  the  path  became 
too  steep  and  I  had  even  to  climb  like  a  peasant 
or  abandon  my  purpose." 

Robert  smiled  condescension. 

"Dear  goddess  of  exquisite  desires,  our  piety 
has  power  to  pardon  your  paganism.  I  am  king 
over  the  pagan  shrine  as  over  the  Christian  altar. 
But,  before  I  absolve  you,  I  have  a  command  to 
lay  upon  you."  His  smile  became  cruel  as  he 
spoke,  for  a  scheme  of  revenge,  exquisitely  evil, 
possessed  him, 

93 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  Your  slave  listens,"  Lycabetta  said,  lifting  her 
hands  to  her  jewelled  forehead  in  sign  of  sub- 
mission. 

Robert  flung  his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her 
down  beside  him  on  the  column. 

"Lycabetta,"  he  said.  "If  I  know  you  well, 
you  are  a  creature  of  little  scruple,  to  whom  what 
fools  call  virtue  is  a  soimdless  word,  and  virginity 
but  an  unpierced  pearl  of  price  in  the  market." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  w^eighing  his  revenge, 
tasting  it,  finding  it  sweet  to  savor.  "To-night 
I  will  deliver  into  your  care  a  young  girl,  proud 
of  her  purity,  strong  in  her  simple  innocence.  It 
shall  be  your  task  to  make  her  into  a  courtesan 
like  yourself,  shaming  and  staining  the  flower  of 
her  girlhood  into  a  flaming  rose  of  vice.  You  can 
do  this?" 

"It  is  an  easy  task,  sire." 

Robert  shook  his  head,  and  the  cruelty  in  his 
face  deepened. 

"You  will  not  find  it  easy.  I  think  she  will 
resist  you.  I  know  she  will  resist  you.  Conquer 
her  resistance  by  what  means  you  please.  I  shall 
not   question   them."     His   voice   broke   into   a 

94 


LYCABETTA 

scream  of  rage.  "  Break  her  spirit,  degrade  her 
body,  slay  her  soul,  and  when  she  is  as  I  would 
have  her  be,  send  me  word  that  I  may  come  and 
laugh  at  her." 

Lycabetta  watched  him  curiously. 

"It  shall  be  done,  sire,"  she  said,  dispas- 
sionately. 

"She  is  angel-fair.  Fools  would  say  she  was 
angel-good — fools  who  believe  in  angels.  She  will 
plead  with  the  speech  of  angels.  You  must  be 
pitiless." 

Lycabetta  shrugged  her  shoulders.  In  her  heart 
she  wondered  if  the  King  were  losing  his  wits. 

"Were  she  my  sister,  sire,  your  whim  should 
be  my  law.  Trust  me,  I  shall  make  her  worthy 
of  our  ancient  rites.  But,  sire,  forgive  me  if  I 
doubt  this  fierce  resistance.  We  women  are  all 
alike  in  the  end." 

Robert  turned  away  from  her  with  a  stifled 
groan. 

"I  thought  so  till  this  morning,"  he  said, 
heavily, 

Lycabetta  guessed  at  the  secret  and  pricked 
with  a  question. 

95 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Surely  this  moon  -  flower  never  defied  you, 
sire?" 

Instantly  the  King  turned  on  her,  his  fair  face 
so  hideous  with  fury  that  Lycabetta  slipped  from 
his  side  and  cowered  before  him. 

"  Silence,  jade!"  he  snarled,  beastlike.  "  If  you 
play  with  me,  I  will  nail  you  naked  to  your  own 
door  for  Syracusan  clowns  to  mock  at." 

Lycabetta  grovelled  in  the  grass  at  his  feet. 

"Forgiveness,  sire,"  she  begged. 

Robert  shook  his  rage  from  him,  for  he  needed 
the  woman  to  play  out  the  evil  play. 

"Go  into  the  chapel,"  he  ordered  her,  "and 
whisper  to  the  captain  of  the  guard  that  I  need 
Hildebrand." 

Pagan  though  the  woman  was,  she  respected 
the  ruling  faith  and  made  bold  to  protest. 

"Sire,  if  I  disturb  the  ceremony — " 

Robert  rose  and  towered  above  her,  disdainful 
in  pride. 

"  I  am  the  King.  There  is  no  church,  no  shrine, 
no  ceremony  where  I  am  not.     Go!" 

Not  daring  to  disobey,  Lycabetta  left  him, 
and,  mounting  the  steps  of  the  chapel,  opened 

96 


LYCABETTA 

the  door  cautiously  and  entered.  Robert  seated 
himself  again  with  burning  brain  and  heart.  A 
little  white,  bell-like  flower  grew  at  his  feet.  He 
trampled  it  with  his  heel  into  the  grass,  crushing 
it  shapeless. 

"  How  I  shall  triumph  over  this  Diana,"  he  said, 
aloud,  hugging  his  foul  thought,  "when  every  sea- 
man can  command  her!" 

Then  he  sat  in  silence,  brooding  over  sins,  till 
Lycabetta  came  out  of  the  chapel  and  descended 
the  steps,  followed  by  Hildebrand,  who  came  to 
Robert, 

"You  called  me,  sire?"  he  said. 

Robert  sprang  to  his  feet  and  drew  Hildebrand 
apart. 

"Speed  to  the  city,"  he  whispered.  "When  it 
dusks,  send  my  two  Moorish  slaves  to  Theron's  hut. 
They  must  persuade  or  force  the  girl  to  go  with 
them  and  bear  her  to  the  house  of  Lycabetta." 

Hildebrand  bowed. 

"  I  obey,  sire.  Will  you  enter  the  chapel?  They 
wait  for  you." 

"They  shall  wait  till  the  world's  end,  if  I 
choose,"  Robert  answered,  sourly.  "If  I  choose 
7  97 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

that  they  shall  sit  there  till  they  die  and  rot,  what 
is  that  to  you?"  He  dropped  moodily  on  the  seat 
and  sat  staring  fiercely  at  the  empty  air. 

Hildebrand  left  him  and  joined  Lycabetta, 

"  The  King  is  peevish,"  he  whispered  to  her,  and 
Lycabetta  whispered  back  to  him: 

"  Some  girl  has  crossed  him.  It  is  the  first  time 
he  has  known  refusal,  and  it  maddens  him  like 
mandrake." 

Hildebrand  looked  thoughtful. 

"  She  may  prove  court  favorite  yet,  if  his  mood 
changes.  Maybe  we  were  wise  to  use  her  gently. 
Let  me  bring  you  to  your  litter." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  the  pair  descended 
the  mountain-path,  leaving  the  King  again  alone. 


VI 
THE    ARCHANGEL 

Still  the  King  sat  on  the  column,  the  living 
sovereign  throned  on  the  relic  of  dead  grandeur. 
He  sat  so  motionless  that  the  birds  heeded  him 
no  more  than  if  he  had  stiffened  into  stone,  sense- 
less as  the  block  which  supported  him,  monu- 
mental as  the  marble.  His  robes,  his  jewels,  glowed 
and  glittered  in  the  light  of  the  descending  sun; 
but  the  birds  in  their  wheelings  heeded  them  no 
more  than  if  they  had  been  the  adornments  of 
the  radiant  image  that  once  had  reigned  in  that 
place.  The  bees  boomed  homeward,  the  shadows 
lengthened,  all  the  sounds  of  evening  began  to 
voice  along  the  aisles  of  the  forest,  but  the  King 
gave  them  no  heed.  From  fierce  thoughts  of 
vengeance,  from  the  ache  of  defied  desires,  his 
mind  had  dropped  into  the  past  as  a  swimmer 
might  drop  into  the  darkness  of  a  cool  pool.   And 

99 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 


as  such  a  swimmer  snared  by  treacherous  weeds 
might  in  his  struggles  see  all  the  facts  and  happen- 
ings of  his  past  life  flow  before  him,  so  to  Robert's 
brain  the  flood  of  memory  flowed  unsummoned, 
or,  rather,  he  seemed  to  sit,  with  a  great  painted 
book  upon  his  knee,  and  turn  at  once  unreluctant 
and  indifferent  the  gold-and-purple  pages  of  his 
past — his  fretful,  curious  youth,  his  joyous  flight 
over-sea,  his  viceroyalty  at  Naples.  And  every 
page  of  the  book  was  a  tale  of  pleasure  sated, 
fleshly  greeds  gratified,  the  pride  of  life,  the  lust 
of  the  eye.  And  every  page  was  starred  with  the 
faces  of  fair  w^omen,  who  had  welcomed,  wooed, 
worshipped ;  they  seemed  to  shift  and  flicker  over 
the  fancied  pages  like  the  vivid  faces  of  dreams, 
the  many  forgotten,  the  few  faintly  remembered 
— dark  Faustina,  fair  Messalinda,  brown  Yolande 
— whose  score  was  yet  to  pay — Lycabetta,  the 
miracle  of  ivory  and  ebony.  So  the  faces  throng- 
ed, thick-haunting,  beseeching,  teasing,  pleading, 
and  then  suddenly  they  vanished;  on  a  white, 
stainless  page  one  face  glowed  into  life,  the  face 
of  a  girl  with  clear,  honest  eyes,  with  adorable, 
maiden  mouth,  with  wind-blown  tresses  as  red 

ICO 


THE   ARCHANGEL 

as  the  most  royal  sunset — the  face  of  the  execu- 
tioner's daughter,  the  face  of  a  brave  virgin,  the 
face  of  Perpetua. 

Robert  wrenched  himself  from  his  lethargy  with 
an  impious  oath,  and  glared  about  him.  He 
laughed  as  he  thought  of  his  company,  priests  and 
courtiers,  minions  and  soldiers,  cooped  up  in  the 
church,  while  he,  their  master,  sat  out  there  en- 
joying sunshine  and  shadow  and  telling  the  beads 
of  his  sweetest  sins.  A  mad  thought  came  into 
his  mind — would  it  not  be  droll  to  girdle  the 
church  with  soldiers  sworn  to  slay  whoever  dared 
to  issue  from  the  church  without  the  summons  of 
the  King,  and  so  hold  them  there  to  hunger  and 
thirst  and  belike  die,  so  long  as  it  pleased  him  so 
to  hold  them  ?  As  he  hugged  the  fancy,  chuckling 
over  attendant  thoughts,  a  little  bell  sounded, 
clear  and  sweet  as  the  voice  of  a  child,  calling 
from  the  belfry  of  the  church.  It  was  vesper- 
time,  and  the  servants  of  the  church  were  fulfilling 
their  service  for  the  largest  congregation  their 
temple  had  known  since  its  foundation,  Robert 
frowned  at  the  sound.  How  did  the  shavelings 
dare  not  to  wait  for  his  presence?     He  struck  his 

lOI 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

hands  angrily  together.  In  the  chime  of  the  bell 
he  seemed  to  hear  the  voice  of  Perpetua  crying  out 
against  the  words  that  had  ruined  the  beautiful 
world.  In  the  golden  evening  light  he  seemed 
to  see  the  face  of  Perpetua  gazing  with  scornful 
eyes  upon  her  enemy.  He  closed  his  hands  as  if 
he  were  crushing  her  body  and  soul  in  his  grasp. 

"  I  did  not  think  the  woman  lived  who  could  so 
wound  me,"  he  cried,  aloud.  "If  she  fawned  at 
my  feet  now,  I  would  spurn  her.  To  deny  me — 
me,  the  greatest  prince  in  the  world!  There  is 
not  another  woman  in  the  world  who  would  say 
me  nay." 

From  the  little  church  came  the  swell  of-  sol- 
emn music,  mingled  with  clear,  human  voices, 
the  voices  of  the  holy  ones  within  chanting  the 
"Magnificat."  The  noble  Roman  w^ords  came 
flowing  through  the  still  air,  grand  and  simple, 
to  the  ears  of  the  King.  But  their  grandeur,  their 
simplicity,  carried  no  calm  to  his  writhing  spirit. 

"Magnificat  anima  mea  Dominum:  et  exultavit 
spiritus  meus  in  Deo  salutari  meo." 

Robert  frowned  as  he  listened.  He  remembered 
enough  of  his  boyhood's  Latin  to  interpret  their 

I02 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

message,  and  he  muttered  it  sourly  to  himself  in 
the  vulgar  tongue  of  Sicily. 

"My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord,  and  my 
spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour." 

The  reverential  words  chafed  his  disordered 
temper.  He  wove  their  fine  gold  into  the  dark 
web  of  his  tempestuous  passions.  "Why  do  these 
monks  plague  me  with  their  croakings?"  he  cried. 
"I  need  no  help  from  Heaven  to  strengthen  me 
against  this  buffet." 

Renewed  rage  at  his  denial  set  him  devising 
new  pangs  for  her  who  had  denied  him,  heedless  of 
the  chanting  from  the  church ;  but  soon  again  he 
found  himself  listening,  as  if  against  his  will,  to 
the  sonorous  words. 

"Fecit  potentiam  in  brachio  suo:  dispersit 
superbos  mente  cordis  sui." 

"What  are  the  fools  crooning?"  cried  the  ex- 
asperated King.  "  He  hath  showed  strength  with 
his  arm;  he  hath  scattered  the  proud  in  the 
imagination  of  their  hearts." 

The  words,  as  he  rendered  them,  rang  in  his 
ears  like  a  warning.  He  hardened  his  heart,  but 
he  listened  still,  for  the  next  sentence  seemed  to 

103 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

lapse  with  deeper  solemnity  through  the  golden 
air. 

"Deposuit  potentes  de  sede  et  exaltavit  hu- 
miles." 

Robert  echoed  the  words  in  a  scream  of  insane 
fury. 

"  He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats 
and  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 

In  the  quiet  of  the  evening  his  voice  sounded 
strange  to  him,  horridly  shouting;  he  shook  his 
clinched  fists  at  the  church  as  he  raved. 

"These  fools  shall  bray  no  more  folly.  Who 
shall  uplift  or  cast  down  here  save  I?  Is  there 
any  other  God  save  I  in  Sicily?" 

To  him,  in  his  heat,  it  seemed  as  if  the  church, 
through  the  voices  of  her  ministrants,  was  seeking 
to  come  between  him  and  his  purpose,  to  save 
Perpetua  from  his  hate.  Though  the  voices  had 
ceased,  the  august  menace  echoed  in  his  brain, 
and  he  raved  again, 

"  Shall  I,  who  am  the  glory  of  the  world,  the  very 
flower  of  knighthood,  believe  that  any  power  be- 
yond those  skies  can  cast  me  from  my  seat  or 
save  this  woman  from  my  will?" 

104 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  golden  sunhght  withered 
around  him;  the  blackness  of  darkness  seemed  to 
muffle  all  the  earth ;  only  a  pale  light  like  the  light 
of  earliest  dawn  illuminated  the  gray  walls  of  the 
church  and  gleamed  with  strange  effulgence  upon 
the  armored  image  of  the  archangel.  The  King, 
rigid  with  terror,  beheld  the  image  of  the  arch- 
angel move  slowly  into  life.  It  lifted  the  drawn 
sword  on  which  its  hands  had  rested  and  pointed 
the  weapon  at  the  crouching  King.  Slowly  the 
radiant  figure  seemed  to  leave  its  niche ;  stately  it 
descended  the  rough-hewn  steps.  Then  it  paused. 
The  church  now  was  swallowed  up  in  the  en- 
veloping darkness.  Only  the  figure  of  the  arch- 
angel was  visible  in  that  agony  of  blackness, 
bright  as  burnished  silver,  bright  as  moonlight. 
Its  right  arm  extended  its  sword  towards  the 
crouching  King,  and  the  blade  glowed  like  a  blade 
of  white  fire.  Like  a  flash  of  lightning  it  seemed 
to  leap  to  Robert's  breast  and  sear  his  heart; 
he  would  have  screamed  with  the  pain,  but  his 
voice  seemed  dead  within  him,  and  all  around  him 
thunder  rolled,  horrible  as  the  noise  of  a  dispersing 
world. 

105 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

The  awful  tumult  was  followed  by  a  yet  more 
awful  silence.  Robert,  unable  to  move,  unable  to 
speak,  feeling  as  if  he  were  the  last  living  thing  on 
an  obliterated  earth,  unable  to  do  aught  save  stare 
in  terror  at  that  shining,  celestial  shape,  now  saw 
the  beautiful  lips  part,  now  heard  a  voice  address 
him;  and  the  sound  of  that  voice  was  clear  like 
light,  and  loud  as  all  the  winds  of  all  the  world — a 
terrible,  beautiful  voice,  the  trumpet  of  doom. 

"Robert  of  Sicily!" 

The  great  voice  called  him  by  his  name,  and  the 
King  in  his  abasement  thrust  out  his  hands  ap- 
pealingly. 

"Heaven  has  been  patient  with  your  pride. 
But  now  the  cup  of  your  offence  is  overfull,  your 
silver  has  become  dross,  and  Heaven  is  weary  of 
you.  You  shall  be  as  an  oak  whose  leaf  fadeth 
and  as  a  garden  that  hath  no  water.  I  will  set 
you  up  as  a  gazing-stock,  and  it  shall  come  to  pass 
that  all  they  that  look  upon  you  shall  loathe  you. 
Base  of  soul,  be  base  of  body.  God  will  cause  the 
arrogancy  of  the  proud  to  cease  and  will  lay  low 
the  haughtiness  of  the  terrible." 

As  the  great  words  died  into  silence,  Robert's 
io6 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

body  was  wrung  with  pangs.  His  spirit  seemed 
to  struggle  in  its  earthly  house,  his  flesh  to  divide 
and  dissolve  in  anguish.  Horrid  tremors  tore  him ; 
rigor  of  cold  clawed  at  his  heart,  yet  fever  seemed 
to  flush  every  channel  of  his  body ;  his  senses  reel- 
ed as  if  to  dissolution.  Again  the  lightning  flamed 
from  the  sword  of  the  archangel ;  again  the  sullen 
thunder  rumbled  through  the  vaulted  darkness. 
Robert  staggered  to  his  feet  with  an  inarticulate 
cry  as  the  archangel  vanished  from  his  view. 
All  was  unutterable  night,  and  then  in  a  moment 
the  veil  of  darkness  dissipated ;  again  the  mountain 
summit  was  flooded  with  golden  air;  again  the 
kindly  sunlight  reigned  over  earth  and  sea ;  again 
the  birds  called  joyously  through  the  trees,  and 
belated  bees  forsook  the  flowers;  again  Robert, 
dizzy  and  dismayed,  sat  on  the  fallen  column  and 
stared  at  the  gray  church. 

But  not  Robert  the  King,  the  young,  the  comely, 
the  radiantly  clad.  His  fair  features  had  withered 
to  the  foul  features  of  the  fool  Diogenes ;  his  body 
had  warped  to  the  crooks  and  hunches  of  the  fool's 
body;  his  raiment  had  faded  from  its  regal  pomp 
to  the  stained  livery  of  the  mountebank.     But  it 

107 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

was  with  no  knowledge  of  his  metamorphosis  that 
the  changed  man  stared  at  the  church  and  shud- 
dered in  the  warm  air. 

"  What  a  horrible  dream!"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, drawing  his  hand  across  his  damp  forehead. 
"I  must  have  dozed  in  the  warm  air;  yet  I  did 
not  think  I  slept.  The  storm  seemed  so  real,  and 
the  spirit  with  the  flaming  sword — " 

At  the  thought  of  the  spirit  he  scrambled  to 
his  feet  and  limped  across  the  grass  to  the  church. 
The  bronze  image  of  the  archangel  stood  in  its 
niche,  its  hands  resting  as  of  yore  on  the  hilt  of 
the  great  sword.  Robert  peered  at  it  with  eyes 
still  dazzled,  and  he  babbled  to  himself  weakly. 

"That  image  seemed  to  quicken,  but  now  it 
is  no  more  than  motionless  bronze.  I  slept;  I 
dreamed,  and  the  lying  vision  has  shaken  me.  I 
am  wet  with  sweat  and  my  knees  tremble.  I  will 
go  into  the  chapel  and  pray." 

He  moved  a  little  farther  to  ascend  the  steps, 
conscious  of  an  unfamiliar  heaviness,  unconscious 
of  transformation.  But  as  he  made  to  set  his 
foot  upon  the  lowest  of  the  steps  leading  to  the 
church,  its  doors  were  thrown  wide  open,  and  to 

io8 


I 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

Robert's  astonishment  the  congregation  began  to 
issue  forth,  headed  by  the  archbishop  of  Syra- 
cuse, and  ranged  themselves  in  a  double  rank  on 
the  semicircle  of  the  steps  as  if  forming  a  lane  for 
one  who  was  yet  to  come. 

For  a  moment,  in  his  rage,  speech  seemed  de- 
nied to  Robert  as  he  glared  at  the  many-colored 
crowd  before  him — the  fair  ladies  of  honor,  butter- 
fly bright ;  the  slim,  Italianate  youths,  fantastically 
foppish ;  the  smooth,  eager  priesthood ;  the  soldiers 
weary  of  ceremonial  but  indifferent  to  fatigue; 
the  sturdy  bulk,  blue  eyes,  and  yellow  hair  of  the 
Northern  Guards.  They  paid  no  heed  to  Robert, 
standing  there  below  them ;  their  glances  were  all 
for  the  open  portal  of  the  church  and  its  depths 
beyond  of  cool  twilight. 

Rage  overcame  amazement  and  gave  Robert 
back  his  speech. 

"How  is  this,  my  lord  archbishop?"  he  cried 
out  in  a  great  voice — "  I  bade  you  wait  within 
the  church  till  I  came." 

The  archbishop,  hearing  this  sudden  appeal  to 
him,  turned  for  a  moment  his  wrinkled,  astute 
face  in  the  direction  of  the  speaker,  and,  following 

109 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE  ^ 

his  example  for  the  moment,  all  the  others  turned 
their  indifferent  eyes  upon  Robert.  Some  of  the 
pretty  she -things  whispered  and  tittered.  The 
archbishop  spoke  in  a  voice  of  gentle  petulance, 

"Peace,  fool!"  he  said,  and  waved  his  jewelled 
hand  in  gentle  reproof  of  importunacy.  If  the 
jewelled  hand  had  struck  Robert  brutally  in  the 
face  it  could  not  more  have  staggered  him.  All 
the  air  seemed  to  glow  red  around  him ;  his  reason 
surrendered  itself  to  fury  at  this  unmeaning,  in- 
decent affront. 

"Are  you  mad,  priest?"  he  gasped,  pointing  a 
hand  that  trembled  with  passion  at  the  prelate, 
who  had  turned  away  from  him  and  was  again 
gazing  reverentially  into  the  church.  The  women 
now  were  laughing  outright,  but  most  of  the 
men  had  only  frowns  for  the  unseemly  license  of 
a  court  buffoon.  Sigurd  Blue  Wolf,  the  captain 
of  the  Varangians,  moved  leisurely  down  a  step. 

"Stand  aside,  fellow!"  he  said,  placidl}'-,  in  his 
large  voice  of  Northern  command.  He  had  some 
pity  in  his  heart  for  the  misshapen  thing. 

"  Where  did  the  buffoon  spring  from?"  Faustina 
whispered  behind  her  fan  to  Messalinda. 

no 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

Robert  had  no  eyes  for  the  laughing,  frown- 
ing faces;  no  ears  for  the  bidding  of  Sigurd.  He 
mouthed  at  the  archbishop,  foam  on  his  lips  and 
blood  in  his  eyes. 

"You  shall  hang  for  this  were  you  ten  times 
archbishop!"  he  cried.  He  could  not  understand 
the  madness,  the  audacity  of  his  people ;  his  anger 
could  not  pause  in  its  gallop  to  make  coherent 
question,  to  frame  coherent  answer.  A  slim, 
courtier  creature,  a  thing  of  jewels  and  feathers, 
perched  on  the  lowest  tier  of  the  steps,  admonish- 
ed him  with  a  shake  of  scented  fingers.  Through 
his  frenzy  Robert  remembered  that  only  last  night 
he  made  this  same  courtier  serve  him  as  a  foot- 
stool. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  speak  thus  to  your  King?"  he 
gasped,  tearing  at  the  breast  of  his  jerkin  in  a 
new-felt  difficulty  of  breathing,  a  new-felt  longing 
for  air. 

Messalinda  turned  to  those  about  her  as  one 
who  held  the  key  to  the  riddle. 

"This  is  how  he  played  the  King  yesterday," 
she  said,  "and  earned  the  King's  displeasure." 

The  others  nodded.     They  knew  Diogenes'  per- 
III 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

tinacity  with  a  joke,  Yolande  gave  voice  to  the 
general  feeHng: 

"It  is  ever  the  worst  of  these  mountebanks, 
that  they  will  harp  on  a  dull  jest." 

The  archbishop,  irritated  at  the  continuance 
of  the  talking  and  brawling,  averted  his  eyes  a 
moment  from  the  interior  of  the  church,  and 
turned  them  again  upon  Robert,  who  stood  as  if 
rooted  to  his  place,  the  image  of  a  fighting  beast 
at  bay. 

"You  presume  too  much  upon  our  patience," 
he  said,  sharply.  "  You  will  vex  the  King  again." 
As  he  spoke  he  glanced  in  the  direction  of  Sigurd 
Blue  Wolf,  a  significant  glance,  suggesting  that 
it  was  time  these  interruptions  should  be  ended. 
Sigurd  moved  leisurely  a  little  nearer  to  Robert, 
who  did  not  heed  him,  heeding  only  the  arch- 
bishop. Through  his  bewildered  mind  bewilder- 
ing thoughts  were  flitting.  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  this  strange  jest  at  his  expense?  Could  the 
archbishop  believe  that  he  would  ever  pardon 
so  preposterous  an  enormity?  Yet  now  a  kind 
of  fear  crept  in  upon  his  rage,  as  he  heard  the 
priest  use  the  name  of  the  King. 

112 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

"I  am  the  King,"  he  asserted,  hotly.  "What 
ribaldry  is  this?     I  am  the  King!" 

A  chorus  of  derisive  laughter  came  from  his 
spectators,  amused  at  the  insistence  of  the  fool. 
After  all,  if  Diogenes  chose  to  jeopardize  his  head, 
what  was  it  to  them?  Robert  glared  at  all  those 
familiar  faces  that  dared  to  regard  him  so  famil- 
iarly. Every  contemptuous  glance  of  their  eyes, 
every  mocking  note  of  their  voices  were  so  many 
arrows,  stinging  his  tortured  mind  beyond  en- 
durance. Was  this  some  sick  dream  from  which 
a  mighty  effort  of  will  should  set  him  free? 

"This  is  dangerous  sport,  to  tease  the  lion!" 
he  yelled.     "  Now,  by  my  royal  word — " 

He  made  a  stride  forward  as  if  to  advance  upon 
his  tormentors.  Sigurd  Blue  Wolf  advanced, 
caught  him  by  the  arm  and  whispered  to  him, 
not  unkindly: 

"His  Majesty  is  at  his  prayers  within.  You 
were  wise  to  slip  away  ere  he  comes  out,  for  the 
sight  of  you  may  anger  him.  Quick,  fool,  into 
the  wood." 

Robert  tried  in  vain  to  shake  off  his  mighty 
grasp.     He  beat  ineffectually  at  the  Northman's 

8  113 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

breast  as  he  might  have  beaten  at  a  gate  of 
brass. 

"Insolent  fool!"  he  screamed.  "How  can  the 
King  be  within  when  I  stand  here?  I  am  the 
King!" 

But  even  as  he  spoke  he  stiiifened  as  a  man 
suddenly  struck  with  catalepsy.  For  again  all 
eyes  were  turned  away  from  him  to  the  door- 
way of  the  church,  and  there,  framed  in  that  door- 
way, Robert's  haggard  eyes  saw  his  own  image, 
his  loyal  likeness,  his  very  self.  So  had  he  seen 
himself  that  morning  in  his  Venetian  mirror — the 
familiar  smooth  face  and  waved  hair,  the  familiar 
carriage,  the  chosen  robes  and  gold  and  jewels. 
All  present,  save  only  Robert,  saluted  Robert's 
double  reverentially,  Sigurd  released  his  grasp 
of  Robert's  arm,  and  then  on  Robert's  stricken 
ears  came  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  from  the 
threshold  of  the  church. 

"Who  says  he  is  the  King?"  his  own  voice 
asked.  The  archbishop  turned  to  him  who  spoke 
and  answered,  "  Sire,  your  fool  in  a  most  unseemly 
humor  plagues  us." 

Into  Robert's  distraught  brain  there  leaped 
114 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

some  wild  idea  of  conspiracy,  of  intrigue  to 
supplant  him  by  the  means  of  some  pretender 
fashioned  like  himself. 

"Who  is  this  impostor?"  he  cried,  and,  turning 
to  Sigurd,  he  commanded,  "Seize  him,  soldiers!" 

Sigurd  answered  with  a  blow  like  the  butt  of  a 
ram, 

"Silence,  dog!"  he  shouted,  now  out  of  all  pa- 
tience. Robert  reeled  under  an  insult  bitterer 
than  the  blow,  and  insanity  overswept  his  senses. 

"Traitors!  villains!"  he  cried,  and  clapped  his 
hand  to  his  girdle,  where  his  sword-hilt  should 
have  been.  But  no  sword-hilt  answered  to  his 
eager  fingers.  Mad,  confused  thoughts  of  treach- 
ery mastered  him.  "Where  is  my  sword?"  he 
cried.  "Who  has  disarmed  me  while  I  slept?" 
A  wild  sense  of  defied  kingship  flooded  his  spirit. 
"With  my  naked  hands  I  will  overthrow  this 
treason." 

Blindly,  idly,  he  flung  himself  forward,  meaning 
to  scale  the  steps  and  grapple  with  his  parallel, 
but  in  a  moment  the  strong  arms  of  Sigurd  held 
him  in  the  grip  of  a  bear.  Then  he  who  stood 
at  the  summit  of  the  steps,  and  wore  the  likeness 

115 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

of  the  lord  of  Sicily,  lifted  his  hand  and  spoke, 
and  his  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  King  Robert 
in  the  ears  of  all  men  there  save  only  one,  save 
only  Robert  the  King,  struggling  in  the  grip  of 
Sigurd  Blue  Wolf,  and  to  him,  through  the  cruel 
echo  of  his  own  speech  there  seemed  to  ring  some 
note  of  tones  heard  in  a  dream,  a  dream  of  a 
bronze  image  that  quickened  and  spoke  words 
of  doom. 

"Do  him  no  hurt,"  said  the  kingly  presence, 
gently.  "He  is  mad,  and  madness  needs  com- 
passion. Let  him  be  in  peace,  and  those  of  you 
who  are  pitiful  may  well  pray  for  him.  Let  us 
go  hence,  friends." 

"  You  hear  what  the  King  says,"  Sigurd  growled 
in  Robert's  ear.  "To  your  knees,  fool!"  Robert 
struggled  helplessly  to  release  himself,  crying,  "  I 
am  the  King!"  whereat  Sigurd,  dropping  his 
strong  hands  on  his  captive's  shoulders  and  re- 
peating, angrily,  "To  your  knees,  fool!"  forced 
him  ignominiously  to  the  ground,  first  tottering 
on  his  knees  and  then  collapsing  in  a  huddle  on 
the  ground. 

The  kingly  presence  on  the  steps  surveyed  the 
ii6 


THE    ARCHANGEL 

grovelling,  abject  thing  in  the  fool's  livery  with  an 
implacable  smile, 

"Remember,"  he  said,  softly,  and  the  word 
beat  upon  Robert's  brain  like  the  blow  of  a 
hammer.  Then  he  came  slowly  down  the  steps 
through  the  lane  of  adoring  faces.  As  he  came 
to  the  last,  Sigurd,  as  if  fearing  some  further 
attempt  on  the  part  of  the  fool,  set  his  heavy 
foot  on  Robert's  back  where  he  sprawled,  and 
pinned  him  to  the  ground.  But  Robert  made  no 
struggle.  Unchallenged,  his  presentment  passed 
to  the  edge  of  the  mountain-path,  and,  descending, 
disappeared,  followed  by  whispering  courtiers,  full 
of  the  King's  mercy  to  a  brawling  fool.  Sigurd 
lifted  his  foot  from  the  fallen  man  and  headed 
his  Varangians.  Ladies  and  youths,  priests  and 
soldiers,  all  in  their  turn  and  order  descended  the 
slope  of  the  hill,  and  Syracuse  swallowed  them  up 
in  time. 

But  the  man  in  the  fool's  motley  lay  on  his  face 
on  the  grass  and  made  no  sign  of  life. 


VII 
DISCROWNED,    DISHONORED 

The  red  shield  of  the  sun  had  sHpped  into  the  sea, 
the  warm  twiHght  had  gHded  into  warm  night, 
and  the  yellow  circle  of  the  perfect  moon  glowed 
in  a  sea-blue  sky.  To  your  Sicilian  the  moon  is 
ever  a  marvel,  a  mystical  influence,  now  generous, 
now  maleficent,  always  portentous.  One  salutes 
in  her  the  spirit  of  Diana;  another  sees  on  that 
yellow  disk  only  the  awful  face  of  Cain;  to  yet  a 
third  the  moon  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
baker's  daughter;  while  a  fourth  will  swear  that 
she  is  the  sister  of  the  sun,  who  loved  her  brother 
too  well  and  is  condemned,  in  punishment  for 
her  sin,  to  drift  forever  in  solitude  through  the 
skies.  But  whatever  the  moon  meant  to  each, 
all  paid  the  moon  homage.  Lovers  in  Syracuse, 
wandering  in  grove  or  garden,  looked  up  at  it, 
thinking  sweet  thoughts,  uttering  sweet  words, 

ii8 


DISCROWNED,    DISHONORED 

and  then,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  forgot 
the  world  as  their  lips  met.  Poets  in  Syracuse, 
catching  sight  of  the  moon  through  their  open 
casemates,  abandoned  lamp  and  parchment,  and, 
propping  their  chins  on  their  hands,  stared  at 
that  enigmatic  field  of  silver  and  believed  them- 
.selves  to  be  inspired.  Philosophers  in  Syracuse, 
pacing  quiet  streets,  smiled  at  the  ancient  of  days 
and  sighed  over  their  flying  shadows,  symbolical 
of  much.  Needy  folk,  greedy  folk,  showed  pieces 
of  silver  to  it,  singing : 

"  O  Holy  Moon, 
I  beg  a  boon: 
Keep  me  healthy, 
Make  me  wealthy 
Very  soon." 

Children  not  yet  abed  played  quaint  blindfold 
games  in  which  they  made  the  moon  their  play- 
mate, shrilling  the  distich: 

"Tell  us,  Mistress  Moon,  who  ask  it, 
What  you  carry  in  your  basket." 

Fishermen  in  Syracuse,  hanging  out  their  little 
lanterns  at  the  prows  of  their  boats,  compared  on 

119 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

the  dancing  waters  the  lustre  of  the  moonhght 
with  the  reflection  of  their  Httle  wicks,  and  were 
proud  of  the  power  of  their  fish-oil.  Dogs  in 
Syracuse  bayed. 

In  the  hills  above  Syracuse  all  was  silent.  The 
moonlight,  flooding  slope  and  valley,  wood  and 
ruin  and  church,  shone  on  the  figure  of  a  man  in 
motley  lying  motionless  upon  the  grass.  It  shone, 
too,  on  the  sad  face  of  a  girl  wandering,  wandering 
through  the  pine  woods.  The  moonlight  shone 
caressingly  upon  her  crow^n  of  flame-colored  hair, 
upon  his  deep,  tearless  eyes. 

Since  she  had  fled  from  the  false  hunter  into 
the  thickets  of  the  wood  Perpetua  had  wandered 
hither  and  thither  in  its  familiar  deeps,  drinking 
the  cup  of  pain.  In  one  short  day  she  had  learned 
from  foul  face  and  from  fair  face  such  knowledge 
of  the  evil  of  the  world  as  tortured  her  brave 
heart.  Nothing  could  stagger  her  belief  in  good- 
ness as  the  laAV  of  life,  but  she  had  not  dreamed 
until  this  day  of  the  strength  of  its  enemies.  The 
bright  of  face,  made  in  the  mould  of  beauty, 
stamped  with  the  seal  of  grace,  these  could  be 
traitors  to  God,  slayers  of  peace. 

I20 


DISCROWNED,   DISHONORED 

Torn  by  such  thoughts,  she  drifted  almost  un- 
consciously, fighting  with  her  sorrow,  to  all  the 
dear  places  of  her  daily  visits— the  companionable 
tree,  the  well  -  spring  of  cool  waters,  the  bowl- 
shaped  hollow  in  which  she  loved  to  lie  and  see 
nothing  but  the  sky,  the  little  shrine  in  the  clear- 
ing where  a  path  ran  through  the  wood — to  each 
of  these  spots  she  went  in  turn  as  one  who  makes 
a  pilgrimage.  All  were  the  same  in  the  sweet 
moonlight  as  they  had  been  that  morning  in  the 
light  of  the  sweet  sun.  How  green  the  world 
had  seemed  that  morning !— and  now  it  had  grown 
gray  and  the  birds  sang  nothing  but  dirges.  But 
the  girl  was  too  strong  to  let  her  young  sadness 
master  her.  Stoutly  she  told  herself  she  was  a 
fool  to  think  that  the  world  was  changed  because 
of  a  maid's  sorrow;  bravely  she  bade  herself  bear 
her  cross.  To-morrow,  perhaps,  she  would  tell 
her  father,  and  they  would  climb  higher  on  the 
hills,  hide  deeper  in  the  woods  —  fly  somewhere 
from  the  envy  of  the  evil  King.  To-night  she 
might  not  sleep,  but  at  least  she  would  not 
weep. 

Perpetua   made   her   way  homeward   through 

121 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

the  wood.  As  she  passed  into  the  open  space 
where  the  ancient  fane  had  risen,  she  saw  in  the 
bright  moonUght  the  figure  of  a  man  extended 
at  full  length  on  the  grass.  A  sudden  fear  for 
her  father  leaped  into  her  mind — could  he  have 
fallen  there?  She  ran  swiftly  forward,  but  as  she 
neared  the  prostrate  figure  her  fears  fled,  for  she 
recognized  by  his  garments  the  withered  fool  of 
the  morning.  He  seemed  to  be  moaning  like  a 
beast  in  pain,  and  her  distaste  of  him  could  make 
no  head  against  her  pity.  She  knew,  too,  being 
Sicilian,  how  dangerous  it  was  to  lie  in  the  moon- 
light— to  do  so  was  to  court  madness.  She  bent 
down  beside  him  and  touched  him  very  softly  on 
the  shoulder.  "What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 
she  asked. 

She  had  moved  so  lightly  over  the  thick  grasses — 
he  was  steeped  so  heavily  in  his  stupor — that  he 
did  not  know  of  her  approach  until  she  spoke. 
Then  Robert  raised  his  heavy,  weary  head  and 
stared  at  her,  dazed,  while  she  looked  sadly  at  the 
twisted  visage  of  the  fool.  Then  consciousness 
came  back  to  Robert,  and  he  knew  Perpetua,  and 
his  heart  rejoiced  within  him. 

122 


DISCROWNED,   DISHONORED 

"  You !  you !"  he  cried,  hopefully.  "  Do  you  not 
know  me?" 

Perpetua  looked  pitifully  at  the  ill-favored  face. 
Who  that  had  once  seen  it  could  fail  to  remember 
it,  she  thought;  so  she  answered,  gently, 

"Indeed  I  do." 

Robert  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his 
hands  to  her  eagerly.  In  the  moonlight  his  face 
seemed  to  her  more  hideous  than  even  she  had 
thought  it  in  the  morning,  and  she  drew  away 
from  him  involuntarily,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to 
this,  thinking  only  of  her  words. 

"Ah,  Heaven  be  praised!"  he  sighed.  "You 
know  I  am  the  King." 

Instantly  Perpetua  remembered  the  fool's  tale 
of  the  morning — how  he  had  played  at  being  the 
King  and  was  menaced  with  death  for  his  mimicry. 
She  felt  sure  that  the  moon  had  overthrown  his 
weak  wits,  and  that  he  had  now  come  to  believe, 
in  his  madness,  that  he  was,  indeed,  the  King. 
But  Robert  plied  her  eagerly. 

"You  remember,"  he  insisted,  "a  while  ago,  in 
the  sunlight,  how  I  told  you  who  I  was?  I  am 
the  King." 

123 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

He  drew  himself  up  proudly,  and  his  air  of 
dignity  contrasted  so  grimly  with  his  wry  figure 
that  Perpetua,  who  had  found  no  tears  for  her  own 
grief,  was  ready  to  weep  for  him.  So  she  answered 
him  according  to  his  folly,  hoping  to  soothe  him. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"  she  murmured,  touch- 
ed to  the  heart  by  the  trouble  in  his  wild  eyes. 
"  But  you  seem  sick  and  faint.  Shall  I  bring  you 
some  water?" 

She  made  as  if  to  leave  him,  to  seek  for  water, 
but  he  stayed  her  with  a  gesture,  speaking  rapidly, 
in  a  low  voice  that  seemed  charged  with  fear. 

"There  is  a  strange  conspiracy  against  me" — 
he  paused,  as  if  trying  to  command  his  fevered 
thoughts,  and  pressed  his  hands  to  his  forehead— 
"  or  else  I  have  been  dreaming  a  strange  dream." 
He  looked  around  hiiji  drearily,  and  then  again 
fixed  his  questioning  gaze  upon  her.  "But  you 
— you  know  me?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  you,"  Perpetua  answered 
him,  gently;  but  to  herself  she  said,  "Poor  soul! 
poor  soul !' '  and  she  wondered  what  she  could  do 
to  help  the  afflicted  thing.  If  her  father  had 
returned  he  would  know  what  to  do — or  one  of 

124 


DISCROWNED,    DISHONORED 

the  holy  brothers  of  the  Church.  Even  while  she 
reflected  two  forms  rose  against  the  sky,  coming 
from  the  pathway,  giant  figures  with  skins  like 
burnished  copper,  clad  with  a  barbaric  splendor, 
with  pelts  of  leopards  over  their  shoulders,  and 
having  great  rings  of  gold  upon  their  arms  and 
in  their  ears. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  one;  and,  "Knock  at 
the  door,"  ordered  the  other.  Perpetua  stepped 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  trees  towards  them. 
Robert,  following  her  action  with  his  eyes,  saw 
the  men  and  knew  them,  amazed,  for  his  Moorish 
slaves  Zal  and  Rustum.  He  asked  himself  why 
they  were  there,  and  could  not  answer  the  ques- 
tion; yet  some  memory  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
assert  itself  in  his  troubled  brain,  and  he  watched 
what  followed  vaguely  as  one  shackled  by  sleep. 

"What  do  you  seek?"  Perpetua  asked  of  the 
new-comers. 

The  one  who  had  spoken  last  questioned  her. 

"Are  you  the  daughter  of  Theron  the  execu- 
tioner?" 

"I  am  she,"  Perpetua  answered. 

The  other  black  giant  spoke.* 
125 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  You  must  come  with  us.  Your  father  has  sent 
for  you.     He  Hes  sick  at  Syracuse." 

Perpetua  gave  a  great  cry. 

" My  father  sick!     I  will  go  with  you  at  once." 

The  sound  of  her  cry  seemed  to  rend  the  veil 
of  forgetfulness  that  hung  about  the  brain  of 
Robert.  He  knew  now  why  these  men  had  come, 
sent  by  Hildebrand  in  obedience  to  his  King's 
command.  For  the  first  time  in  his  foolish  life 
Robert  felt  his  heart  throb  with  pity,  his  spirit 
rise  in  arms  against  injustice.  The  girl  who  had 
disdained  him  in  his  pride  had  been  kind  to  him 
in  his  misery;  she  should  suffer  no  wrong  from 
him.  He  limped  into  the  open  space  and  waved 
the  Saracens  aside  with  a  gesture  of  command, 
while  he  called  to  Perpetua: 

"No,  no;  do  not  go  with  them.  It  is  a  trick, 
a  lie."  Advancing  fiercely  upon  the  slaves,  who 
stared  at  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  discredited 
jester,  he  cried  out:  "I  have  changed  my  mind. 
Begone!"  Then,  reading  only  derision  and  denial 
on  their  countenances,  he  raged  at  them. 

"Do  you  not  know  me,  fellows?  I  am  the 
King!" 

126 


DISCROWNED,   DISHONORED 

The  black  slaves  grinned  evilly.  One  of  them 
turned  to  Perpetua,  who,  in  her  eagerness  to  join 
her  father,  listened  with  impatience  to  the  gro- 
tesque assertions  of  the  fool. 

"Come,  maiden,  come,"  he  said.  "There  is  no 
time  to  lose."  Then  as  Robert  interposed  him- 
self between  the  girl  and  the  slave,  the  slave 
roared  at  him,  "Out  of  the  way,  fool!" 

Robert  felt  his  members  tremble  at  the  ferocity 
of  the  monster  who  was  wont  to  kiss  his  hand, 
but  he  stood  his  ground. 

"She  shall  not  go,"  he  said. 

"  I  say  she  shall,"  the  black  answered,  and  with 
his  huge  hand  he  dealt  Robert  a  blow  that  beat 
him  brutally  to  the  earth,  Perpetua  sprang 
forward  to  prevent  further  cruelty,  but  the  slave 
paid  no  further  heed  to  the  prostrate  man.  Catch- 
ing Perpetua  by  the  hands,  they  hurried  her  at 
full  speed  down  the  mountain-path  to  the  place 
where  a  litter  was  waiting. 

Robert  lay  alone  on  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
dizzy  with  pain  and  rage,  beating  the  earth  with 
his  clinched  fists  and  moaning  to  himself:  "I  am 
the  King!     I  am  the  King!     I  am  the  King!" 

127 


VIII 
PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

A  LITTLE  way  from  the  city  Lycabetta  had  found, 
dedicated  to  our  Lady  of  DeHghts,  a  fitting  shel- 
ter for  herself  and  for  her  attendant  nymphs. 
This  was  the  palace  of  a  dead  and  heirless  duke, 
somewhile  abandoned  and  now  renewed  with  life 
and  color  by  the  gold  of  the  Neapolitan.  It 
stood  apart  in  spacious  gardens  that  were  girdled 
so  thickly  with  groves  of  cypresses  that  none 
save  the  initiated  could  dream  of  the  wonders 
masked  by  the  melancholy  trees.  But  those 
initiated  knew  well  that  behind  the  solemn  bar- 
rier there  smiled  a  kind  of  earthly  paradise — 
pleasances  where  even  ti^e  flowerful  soil  of  Sicily 
seemed  extravagantly  prolific  of  color,  extrav- 
agantly prodigal  of  odors;  thickets  wherein  the 
great  god  Pan  might  have  delighted  to  lurk ;  fair 
colonnades  thick-carpeted  with  the  petals  of  roses 

128 


"ROBERT    CAUOUT    HER    OUTSTRETCHED    IIAXDS  " 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

and  framed  to  greet  all  cool,  benevolent  breezes; 
temples  to  exquisite  divinities ;  fountains  lapsing, 
murmurous  as  the  laughter  of  youth,  into  great 
basins  whose  smooth  waters  welcomed  smooth 
bodies;  grottoes  deep  and  mysterious,  affording 
shelter  in  the  fiercest  heats.  To  these  enchanted 
privacies  the  young  and  rich  who  had  followed 
Robert  from  Naples  and  had  welcomed  his  com- 
ing to  Sicily  made  pilgrimage,  and  day  and  night 
pleasure  held  there  her  pagan  court  as  if  the  wild 
cry  had  never  been  heard  by  Thamus,  the  pilot, 
calling  from  the  islands  of  Paxse  and  heralding 
the  coming  of  the  white  Christ. 

On  this  night  the  House  of  Pleasure  was  un- 
usually quiet.  Those  who  guarded  the  golden 
gates  denied  admission  to  all  who  could  not 
conjure  with  the  King's  name,  and  Lycabetta 
was  alone  with  her  favorite  women,  fair,  Greek- 
faced  girls  with  fair,  Greek  names  —  Glycerium, 
Hypsipyle,  Euphrosyne,  Lysidice.  The  room  that 
shrined  her  beauty  was  a  marvellous  medley  of 
the  styles  of  many  architectures,  of  the  arts  of 
many  lands,  as  if  the  streams  of  wealth  and 
splendor  flowing  from  all  the  soupces  of  the  world 

9  129 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

had  carried  thither  its  rarest  treasures.  Greece, 
Rome,  Byzantium,  the  genius  of  the  Saracen,  and 
the  vigor  of  the  Norman  had  shared  in  the  decora- 
tion of  those  walls,  gorgeous  with  gold  and  color, 
hung  with  sumptuous  tapestries  woven  with  allur- 
ing figures  from  the  legends  of  love.  The  floor, 
inlaid  with  iridescent  tiles  that  Persian  hands 
had  painted,  was  strewn  with  costly  stuffs  and 
furs.  Before  a  life-size  statue  in  bronze  of  Venus, 
a  copy  of  that  Venus  Callipyge  given  by  Helio- 
gabalus  to  Syracuse,  a  fire  of  shifting,  many-tinted 
flames  burned  on  a  metal  tripod,  whose  stems 
represented  the  figures  of  beautiful,  nude  women. 
The  air  was  heavily  scented  from  the  burning  woods  1 
and  spices  in  the  brazier,  sandal  and  cinnamon 
and  cassia.  Hanging  lamps,  of  strangely  fantastic 
design,  filled  the  wide  room  with  delicate  light. 

Lycabetta,  the  triumphant  jewel  of  all  this  gor- 
geous setting,  reclined  upon  a  golden  couch  that 
was  made  soft  for  her  body  with  rare  furs,  and 
bright — to  enhance  her  whiteness — with  brilliant 
silks.  Clad  in  thin,  transparent  webs,  whose  shift- 
ing shimmer  recalled,  whenever  she  stirred  her 
limbs,  the  glitter  of  the  serpent,  Lj'cabetta  lay 

130 


f 


PAGAN    AMD    CHRISTIAN 

with  a  look  of  weariness  on  her  face,  while  Hyp- 
sipyle  fanned  her  softly  with  a  huge  feather  fan 
of  black  and  white  ostrich  plumes.  Glycerium, 
seated  by  the  head  of  the  couch,  was  busy  in 
adorning  her  mistress's  black  hair  with  flowers. 
At  her  feet  Euphrosyne  nursed  a  kind  of  lute  and 
sang  the  Venus  song  in  a  small,  sweet  voice: 

"Venus  whispered  from  her  nest: 

'White  Adonis,  bright  Adonis! 

Love  is  better  than  the  best, 

Heaven  is  hidden  in  my  breast, 

Take  delight  and  leave  the  rest, 

Blithe  Adonis,  lithe  Adonis!' 

"Venus  stretched  her  arms  and  said: 

'Shy  Adonis,  sly  Adonis! 
Gather  blooms  and  make  a  bed 
Of  the  scented  petals  shed 
By  the  roses,  white  and  red, 

Brisk  Adonis,  frisk  Adonis!' 

"  Venus  murmured  with  a  sigh : 
'Dumb  Adonis,   numb  Adonis! 

Fast  the  golden  moments  fly. 

Love  and  let  the  world  go  by, 

Be  a  god  before  you  die, 

Child  Adonis,  wild  Adonis!'  " 

131 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Lycabetta  yawned  and  lifted  up  her  hand. 
Euphrosyne  ceased  in  her  singing. 

"There,  you  have  sung  enough,"  Lycabetta 
said.  "  I  am  neither  more  sleepy  nor  more  wake- 
ful than  I  was,  and  your  music  wearies  me.  Have 
many  knocked  at  our  doors  to-night?" 

She  looked  at  the  girlGlyccrium  as  she  spoke, 
and  Glycerium  answered  her. 

"The  young  Duke  Ferdinand  of  Etruria." 

Lycabetta  gave  a  little  laugh  of  disdain. 

"A  handsome  fool  with  a  foolish  hand.  How 
did  he  carry  himself  when  you  put  him  by?" 

"He  was  bright  with  wine,"  Glycerium  an- 
swered. "  He  swore  a  Greek  oath  or  two,  but  he 
left  you  this  pearl." 

Glycerium  handed  a  great,  round  pearl  to 
Lycabetta,  who  took  it  from  her  with  indifference, 
weighing  it  lightly  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

"It  is  rare  and  fair,"  she  commented,  "but  I 
will  not  wear  it.  There  is  no  jewel  in  the  world 
that  is  worth  what  it  hides  of  my  whiteness. 
Who  else?" 

Glycerium  thought  for  a  moment  before  she 
answered, 

132 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

"Messer  Gian  Sanminiato." 

Lycabetta  sneered  at  the  name. 

"  The  court  poet  who  would  pay  for  favors  with 
phrases  and  runs  aside  to  rhyme  a  sonnet  every 
time  he  wins  the  kiss  of  a  Hp.  What  did  he 
say?" 

"He  seemed  very  downcast,  and  he  sighed  hke 
a  dromedary,"  Glycerium  answered.  "  He  charged 
me  to  dehver  this  ode  to  your  loveHness." 

She  handed  a  scroll  of  parchment  to  Lycabetta, 
who  took  it  and  opened  it  contemptuously. 

"Oh,  ancient  gods!"  she  sighed.  "Let  me  see 
it.  Yes,  indeed;  I  am  Venus  and  the  Graces 
Three  and  the  Muses  Nine — all  which  I  knew  be- 
fore ever  he  fumbled  for  rhymes ;  and  he  loves  me 
as  Ixion  loved  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  Well,  he 
had  better  find  a  cloud  of  consolation  to-night. 
Who  else?" 

"Casimir,  the  rich  Muscovy  merchant,"  Gly- 
cerium replied. 

Lycabetta  gave  a  shrug. 

"He  rains  gold  like  Jove,  but  he  smells  of 
civet." 

Glycerivim  ventured  a  protest. 
^33 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"His  money  smells  sweet  enough,"  she  said. 
"He  flung  me  this  purse  on  account." 

Lycabetta  took  no  notice  of  the  gold. 

"Is  that  all?"  she  asked. 

Glycerium  responded,  with  a  slight  air  of  con- 
straint, "Sigurd  Olafson,  the  young  Varangian 
captain." 

Lycabetta  lifted  herself  on  one  elbow  with  a 
look  of  interest. 

"  I  would  have  welcomed  him,  for  he  can  hug 
like  a  bear  and  his  blue  eyes  are  as  bright  as  the 
northern  star.  I  could  hate  the  King  for  swearing 
he  would  come  to-night  and  so  forcing  me  to 
keep  my  door  shut.  Did  he  leave  me  anything?" 

"  Nothing,"  Glycerium  admitted ;  "  but  he  lifted 
me,  there  in  the  moonlit  street,  to  the  level  of  his 
lips  and  kissed  me." 

Lycabetta  leaned  forward  and  gave  Glycerium 
a  playful  box  on  the  ear. 

"You  little  thief,"  she  cried,  "to  steal  the  best 
gift  of  the  bunch.  If  I  thought  he  cared  for  you, 
child,  I  would  make  you  very  tmkissable.  Oh, 
I  w4sh  the  King  would  come!" 

Glycerium  gave  a  sigh  of  admiration. 
134 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

"He  is  better  than  the  best  of  them,"  she 
asserted. 

Lycabetta  nodded  her  head. 

"He  is  the  all-conquering  lover,  for  he  never 
yields  an  inch  of  his  heart.  If  a  goddess  con- 
descended from  Olympus,  he  would  woo  her  with 
hot  blood  and  cold  brain.  His  eyes  are  torches  of 
desire,  but  there  never  is  a  tender  light  in  them. 
If  a  woman  died  in  his  arms,  he  would  leave  her 
without  a  sigh.  And  yet  he  can  speak  the  speech 
of  love  more  eloquently  than  an  angel.  You  will 
laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  I  would  give  much 
to  believe  that  he  loved  me." 

"He  is  the  King,"  Glycerium  said,  simply. 

"If  he  were  a  shepherd  on  a  hill-side,  I  should 
think  the  same  thoughts.  But  he  is  alike  with 
all  women.  I  do  not  believe  the  woman  is  born 
of  woman  who  could  make  gentle  his  cruelty. 
He  is  as  pitiless  as  the  plague,  that  never  spares 
the  fairest." 

Glycerium  shivered. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  the  plague,  dear  lady..  They 
say  some  have  died  of  it  in  Syracuse." 

"  Or  call  it  by  some  pretty  name  to  placate  it," 
135 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Euphrosyne  suggested.     "Say  that  the  blessing 
is  abroad." 

Glycerium  shivered  again. 

"Oh,  how  I  wish  we  had  never  left  Naples!" 

Lycabetta's  face  had  grown  pale  and  she  gasped 
her  words. 

"Gods,  how  I  fear  it!  But  it  will  not  creep  in 
here.  We  stand  high  from  the  city.  Our  garden 
is  wardered  with  medicinal  herbs,  and  these  odors 
and  essences  defend  us.  So  we  need  not  fear  it. 
And  yet,  gods,  how  I  fear  it!" 

Even  as  she  spoke  and  shuddered  the  hangings 
of  the  portal  parted,  and  one  of  her  women  en- 
tered and  saluted  reverentially.  Lycabetta  turn- 
ed a  little  on  the  couch  to  look  at  her. 

"What  is  it,  Lysidice?"  she  asked. 

"Zal  and  Rustum,  the  King's  Moors,  wait 
without,"  Lysidice  answered.  "They  come  with 
a  charge  from  the  King." 

"What  charge?"  Lycabetta  asked,  attracted 
by  any  interruption  in  the  monotony  of  her 
night. 

"They  say  they  have  a  woman  with  them," 
Lysidice  answered. 

136 


PAGAN    AND    CFIRISTIAN 

Lycabetta  struck  herself  upon  the  forehead  with 
her  open  palm. 

"A  woman!"  she  cried,  joyously.  "Why,  I 
had  forgotten.  Now  I  shall  have  sport  in  my 
loneliness.  This  is  the  girl  who  is  to  be  my  play- 
thing. Admit  them  and  tell  them  to  leave  the 
girl  here  alone.  But  bid  them  wait  within  call. 
I  may  have  need  of  them.     Fly  away,  love-birds." 

Lysidice  went  out  as  she  had  come,  to  bear 
Lycabetta's  bidding  to  the  Moorish  slaves.  The 
others,  fluttering  like  frightened  doves  before 
Lycabetta's  dismissal,  disappeared  into  the  farther 
apartments  of  the  palace.  Lycabetta  rose  alertly, 
and,  mounting  the  steps  that  rose  behind  the  altar 
leading  to  another  room,  concealed  herself  behind 
the  dividing  curtains.  In  a  few  moments  Zal 
and  Rustum  came  in  bearing  between  them  a 
gilded  litter  curtained  with  crimson  silk.  Setting 
this  upon  the  ground,  they  drew  the  curtains  and 
bade  Perpetua  come  forth.  As  Perpetua  emerged 
from  the  litter  the  brightness  of  the  light  after 
her  long  journey  through  the  night  dazzled  her, 
and  for  a  moment  she  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes 
to  shield  them  from  the  unexpected  light.    In  that 

137 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 


moment  Zal  and  Rustum  had  lifted  up  the  litter 
and  disappeared  through  the  hangings. 

When  Perpetua  removed  her  hands  she  found 
herself  alone  in  the  most  wonderful  room  she  had 
ever  seen  or  dreamed  of.  She  looked  with  as- 
tonishment at  the  gorgeous  stuffs  and  furs,  the 
gold  and  color,  the  glow  of  fire  and  gleam  of 
jewels;  she  breathed  in  amazement  the  subtly 
perfumed  air  which  seemed  at  first  to  make  her 
feel  giddy,  her  who  could  stand  upon  the  brink 
of  the  grimmest  precipice  in  Sicily  and  look  down 
untroubled  to  its  distant  floor.  Her  senses  were 
confused  by  the  lights,  the  odors,  by  the  long, 
strange  journey  through  the  night,  closely  mewed 
in  a  litter  borne  by  black  giants,  who  offered  her 
no  harm  but  answered  her  no  word.  Anxiety 
for  her  father  had  denied  anxiety  for  herself  and 
still  denied  her. 

"  What  is  this  place?"  she  cried  aloud  to  empti- 
ness.    "  Is  there  no  one  here?" 

Instantly  the  curtains  in  front  of  her  divided, 
revealing  Lycabetta  in  the  pride  of  her  white- 
ness, almost  unclothed  in  her  transparent  dra- 
pery. 

138 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

"I  am  here,"  she  said,  and,  descending,  ad- 
vanced a  little  way  towards  the  girl. 

Perpetua  stared  at  the  woman  who  had  come 
upon  her  so  noiselessly,  her  white  body  shining 
through  her  thin,  glittering  robes. 

"Where  is  my  father?"  she  asked. 

Lycabetta  laughed  a  little,  cruel  laugh. 

"This  is  a  strange  place  to  come  and  cry  for  a 
father,"  she  answered,  reading  with  amusement 
the  wonder  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

Perpetua  caught  her  breath  in  sudden  suspicion. 

"Is  not  my  father  here?"  she  said.  "They 
told  me  he  was  sick  and  had  called  for  me." 

Lycabetta  shrugged  her  beautiful  shoulders  and 
her  gleaming  raiment  rippled  in  little  waves  of 
changing  color. 

"Sick  or  well,  living  or  dead,  you  will  find  no 
father  here,  nor  mother  neither;  but  I  will  be 
your  sister,  if  you  please,  sweet  simplicity." 

She  smiled  alluringly. 

Perpetua  looked  at  her  with  brave,  quiet  eyes 
of  dislike. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asked,  holding  her  senses 
well  together  in  the  presence  of  unsuspected  danger. 

139 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Lycabetta  answered  her,  languidly  amused. 

"I  am  everything  and  nothing.  There  are 
poets  who  rhyme  me  the  Rose  of  the  World. 
There  are  priests  who  name  me  the  Strange 
Woman.     I  am  Lycabetta." 

"Lycabetta!"  Perpetua  repeated  the  name  al- 
most unconsciously,  and  Lycabetta  saw  that  it 
had  no  meaning  to  her  ears. 

"Has  no  love-wind  ever  blown  my  name  to 
your  sky -nest?"  she  asked.  "Has  your  royal 
lover  never  named  my  name  For  I,  too,  am  one 
of  the  King's  darlings." 

Perpetua  started  at  the  mention  of  the  King's 
name,  and  looked  around  again  at  the  gorgeous 
cage. 

"The  King!  the  King!  Is  this  the  King's 
house?"  she  asked,  with  wider  eyes  and  clinched 
fingers. 

Lycabetta  made  her  a  mocking  reverence. 

"Every  house  in  Sicily  is  the  King's  house, 
and  my  poor  roof  is  as  loyal  as  the  best.  This  is 
my  house  and  yours,  for  now  you  dwell  in  it  at 
the  King's  pleasure." 

"Then  I  will  leave  it  at  my  own  pleasure,  in- 
140 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

stantly."     She  knew  that  she  was  snared,  but  she 
showed  no  sign  of  fear. 

Lycabetta  shook  her  head  and  smiled  evilly. 

"  I  think  you  will  stay.  Every  door  is  guarded, 
every  bolt  driven  home.  My  frightened  bird,  you 
cannot  escape  from  this  cage." 

She  knew  that  the  girl  was  at  her  mercy  and 
began  to  find  stealthy  delight  in  the  thought. 
Perpetua  faced  her  boldly,  holding  her  head  high. 
Pagan  and  Christian  faced  each  other  with  bright 
eyes. 

"I  do  not  fear  you,"  Perpetua  said,  calmly. 
"You  dare  not  hold  me  here  against  my  will. 
The  King  himself  has  no  power  over  a  free  woman. 
If  you  restrain  me,  I  will  call  for  help,  and  ever}'' 
honest  hand  in  Syracuse  will  be  raised  to  set  me 
free." 

Lycabetta  laughed  again,  and  her  laughter 
seemed  to  run  over  her  in  waves  of  colored  fire 
as  her  thin  garments  trembled  on  her  body. 

"My  gardens  are  deep  and  dim  and  quiet.  No 
sound  from  here  would  reach  the  world  outside. 
No,  not  the  death-cry  nor  the  shriek  of  tortured 
flesh." 

141 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 


Perpetua  gazed  at  her  as  she  might  at  some 
spirit  of  evil  released  at  midnight  to  wreak  its 
will  upon  the  sinful.  There  was  a  great  horror  in 
her  heart,  but  there  was  a  great  courage  in  her 
voice. 

"  Whoever  you  are,  you  cannot  frighten  me ;  you 
dare  not  keep  me  hfere." 

Lycabetta  thrust  her  head  a  little  forward,  like 
a  snake  about  to  strike. 

"You  silly  wood  savage,  you  will  be  very  tame 
presently,"  she  promised,  in  a  low,  hard  voice. 

"In  the  name  of  God  I  defy  you,  and  I  go," 
Perpetua  said,  and  turned  to  go  out  by  the 
entrance  through  which  she  came. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  devil  you  stay  where  you 
are,"  Lycabetta  cried,  and  clapped  her  hands. 

Instantly  the  hangings  that  concealed  the  en- 
trance parted,  and  the  black  giants  entered  and 
stood  silently  awaiting  Lycabetta's  orders. 

Perpetua  moved  to  them  with  a  gesture  of 
authority. 

"Let  me  pass,"  she  commanded. 

The  Moors  stood  motionless.  Lycabetta  called 
to  her  captive: 

142 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

"Those  slave.s  are  as  strong  and  merciless  as 
wild  beasts.  Whatever  I  told  them  to  do  to  you, 
they  would  do  to  you." 

Perpetua  moved  back  towards  Lycabetta. 
Lycabetta  gave  a  sign  and  the  blacks  disappeared 
behind  the  curtains. 

Perpetua  advanced  to  Lycabetta  and  looked  her 
squarely  in  the  face. 

"  Why  have  I  been  brought  here?"  she  demand- 
ed, sternly,  though  despair  was  tugging  at  her 
heartstrings. 

Lycabetta  leaned  back  upon  her  couch  and 
looked  at  her  prisoner  curiously.  The  Neapolitan 
recognized  that  there  was  beauty  of  a  kind  given 
to  the  girl — in  her  hair,  red  as  the  reddest  sunset, 
in  her  candid  eyes,  in  the  strong,  supple  body, 
overbrown  from  mountain  light  and  mountain  air 
for  Lycabetta 's  fancy.  This  was  a  raw  taste  of 
the  King's,  she  thought,  contemptuously ;  the  girl 
would  only  be  passable  in  a  while,  in  a  long  while. 
What  kind  of  passion  was  it  that  a  king  could 
feel  for  a  country  wench,  while  her  gardens  were 
thronged  with  shapes  of  loveliness,  while  she, 
Lycabetta,  still  lived?     The  passions  of  the  great 

143 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

are  mad  fancies,  but  surely  this  was  the  maddest 
fancy  greatness  ever  entertained.  So  she  mused 
while  Perpetua  watched  her.  She  was  stirred 
from  her  meditations  when  the  girl  repeated  her 
question. 

"  Why  have  I  been  brought  here?" 

"You  are  too  idle  in  the  forest,"  Lycabetta 
answered,  "and  so  you  are  sent  here  to  be  ap- 
prenticed to  my  trade." 

Perpetua  moved  a  little  nearer  to  her,  question- 
ing her  with  eyes  and  speech. 

"What  is  your  trade?" 

Lycabetta  turned  to  the  bronze  image  of  Venus 
and  held  out  her  hands  to  it. 

"  The  oldest  in  the  world.  We  were  busy  before 
Babylon  was  built  or  Troy  burned.  We  shall  be 
busy  till  the  world  grows  gray." 

Perpetua  repeated  her  question. 

"Speak  plainly.     What  is  your  trade?" 

Lycabetta  answered  her  frankly. 

"The  trade  of  love.  We  sell  smiles  and  kisses 
and  sweet  hours,  and  men  buy  them  gladly,  even 
at  the  price  of  their  souls." 

"I  know  you  now,"  Perpetua  said,  crossing 
144 


PAGAN    AMD    CHRISTIAN 

herself.  "Though  I  dwell  with  innocence  upon 
the  heights,  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  world's 
depths.  I  know  you  now,  and  God  knows  I 
pity  you.     Let  me  go." 

Lycabetta  shook  her  head. 

"  Why  should  you  pity  me  ?  You  should  rather 
envy  me.  I  am  the  joy  of  life.  I  grasp  and  clasp 
all  pleasures,  heedless  of  the  passing  hour.  I 
make  the  most  of  our  little  summer,  our  fleet- 
ing sunlight.  To  drink,  to  love,  to  laugh  is  the 
swallow  flight  of  my  soul.  You  shall  be  as  wise 
as  I  am  and  as  happy." 

"Have  you  no  fear  of  God?"  Perpetua  asked, 
in  sad  curiosity.  Brought  face  to  face  with  sin, 
her  soul  felt  its  pity  stronger  than  its  horror. 

Lycabetta  laughed,  and  her  laughter  sounded  to 
Perpetua  like  the  music  of  birds  in  a  magic  wood. 

"  I  fear  nothing  but  old  age.  Chilling  kisses, 
the  death  of  desire,  the  sands  that  overwhelm  the 
altar  of  youth,  the  dying  lights  and  fading  gar- 
lands of  life's  waning  feast — these  things  I  fear, 
but  these  things  are  not  yet  for  you  or  for  me, 
and  when  they  come  there  is  always  the  hemlock." 

"You  speak  despair,"  Perpetua  insisted,  eager 
145 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

with  the  eagerness  of  untainted  youth,  "I  an- 
swer with  God's  mercy  that  can  cleanse  and  save 
you.  You  are  the  Strange  Woman  — but  you 
are  a  woman,  born  of  a  woman,  made  to  bear 
the  burden  of  women.  Woman  to  woman,  let 
me  go." 

"I  love  you  too  well  to  lose  you,"  Lycabetta 
retorted.  "You  dream  too  much.  I  shall  take 
great  joy  in  teaching  you  realities.  You  do  not 
know  the  value  of  your  violet  freshness.  You 
will  make  a  sweet  priestess  of  love." 

Perpetua  thrust  out  her  hands  as  if  to  ward  ofif 
her  enemy,  while  she  cried : 

"You  are  the  Strange  Woman!  Were  you  a 
devil,  do  you  think  you  could  ever  make  me  like 
you?" 

Lycabetta  nodded  ominously. 

"  I  will  conquer  your  mad  maidenhood,  I  prom- 
ise you,  and  when  you  sleep  in  silk  and  shine  in 
splendor  you  will  thank  me  devoutly.  Already 
your  cheek  flushes  gratitude." 

The  girl's  cheeks  were  flushed,  but  her  eyes  were 
unchanged  in  defiance  as  she  answered: 

"Your  words  sting  me  like  blows,  and  my  face 
146 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

flames  at  them.     But  you  are  not  so  wise  as  you 
think,  if  you  hope  to  tempt  me  or  terrify  me." 

Lycabetta  watched  her,  catUke. 

"Torture  may  change  your  mind,  as  shame 
shall  change  your  body." 

Perpetua  crossed  herself  again. 

"  Nothing  that  you  can  do  to  me  will  change 
my  soul.  That  I  will  carry  with  me  pure  to 
heaven." 

"  You  may  long  for  death  ere  I  have  done  with 
you,"  Lycabetta  whispered,  sourly.  She  would 
have  said  more,  but  her  speech  was  interrupted 
by  the  sudden  entrance  of  Lysidice  through  the 
curtained  portal.  Lycabetta  questioned  her, 
frowning. 

"Why  do  you  come  here?" 

Lysidice  answered,  hurriedly: 

"There  is  one  outside  muffled  Hke  oblivion, 
whose  command  is  to  see  you  in  the  King's  name." 

Lycabetta  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

"It  is  the  King!  Admit  him.  Wait!"  She 
turned  to  Perpetua.  "You  shall  have  leisure, 
my  woodfinch,  to  grow  wise  in.  School  yourself 
into  submission  ere  I  send  for  you  again." 

147 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Perpetua  folded  her  arms  across  her  breast. 

"I  am  as  changeless  as  the  sun,"  she  said, 
proudly. 

"The  sun  sets,"  Lycabetta  sneered. 

"Ay,"  Perpetua  answered,  "to  rise  again  in 
heaven." 

Chafing  at  the  girl's  obstinacy,  Lycabetta 
clapped  her  hands  and  the  black  slaves  entered. 

"Take  her  away,"  she  commanded,  pointing 
to  Perpetua. 

Zal  and  Rustum  seized  Perpetua,  who,  know- 
ing herself  powerless,  offered  no  vain  resistance, 
and  drew  her  through  the  curtained  space  behind 
the  statue  of  Venus,  and  thence  to  a  more  distant 
room,  in  which  they  left  her  in  darkness  and 
alone. 

The  darkness  was  full  of  strange  perfumes — 
full  of  strange  sounds.  To  a  child  of  the  moun- 
tains, bred  in  the  perfect  mountain  air,  the  heavy 
odors  of  the  House  of  Pleasure  were  nauseating, 
almost  insupportable.  Below  in  the  garden  a 
woman's  voice  sang  softly  in  Sicilian  the  song 
of  the  "  Two  -  and  -  Twenty  Subtle  Caresses." 
Women  listened  to  it  and  laughed,  for  the  only 

148 


PAGAN    AND    CHRISTIAN 

sounds  that  floated  up  were  the  sounds  of  women's 
voices.  Perpetua  put  her  hands  over  her  ears 
and  shuddered.  She  had  come  to  womanhood 
sanely,  sweetly,  innocent,  not  ignorant,  and  she 
knew  that  the  world  of  the  valley  was  not  the 
world  of  the  hill.  But  it  hurt  her  to  the  heart 
that  any  world  could  make  such  use  of  women,  and 
she  knew  the  fate  that  was  meant  to  wait  for  her 
in  the  hateful  place.  But  she  knew  no  fear,  not 
even  the  fear  of  death.  She  prayed  once  and  no 
more ;  she  was  not  one  to  weary  Heaven  with  vain 
repetition.  Then  she  waited  in  patience  for  the 
moment  when  she  should  hear  again  the  foot- 
steps outside  the  fastened  door. 


IX 
THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

As  soon  as  Perpetua  was  withdrawn,  Lycabetta 
turned  to  Lysidice.  ' '  Entreat  the  King  to  enter, ' ' 
she  commanded.  To  her  surprise  Lysidice  made 
no  move,  but  stood  staring  at  Lycabetta  with 
bright  eyes  of  wonder. 

"  Why  do  you  Hnger?"  Lycabetta  shrilled  at  her 
minion.     The  slight  child  answered,  timidly: 

"Daughter  of  the  gods,  I  am  amazed." 

Lycabetta  frowned. 

"What  amazes  you?" 

Lysidice  crept  nearer  to  her  mistress  and 
whispered,  "Though  he  says  he  is  the  King, 
though  he  commands  kingly,  he  is  wrapped  in 
his  mantle  so  closely  that  I  could  not  see  his 
face." 

Lycabetta  laughed  derisively. 

"  Is  that  all?  What  of  that?  When  grea^  folk 
150 


THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

come  to  these  gardens  they  sometimes  ape  invisi- 
biHty." 

Lysidice  ventured  a  Httle  closer  to  Lycabetta. 
Her  tale  was  not  all  told. 

"Ay,"  she  said;  "but  the  night  wind  fluttered 
his  cloak  a  little  and  I  saw  something  of  his  habit. 
It  was  more  like  the  livery  of  a  fool  than  the 
apparel  of  a  king." 

Lycabetta 's  dark  eyebrows  lowered  a  little ;  her 
red  lips  tightened. 

"Indeed!  Does  he  send  his  fool  for  an  am- 
bassador after  keeping  me  clOvSe  through  the  long 
dark?     Well,  bring  him  in.     We  shall  see." 

Lysidice  saluted  and  passed  from  her  presence. 
Lycabetta  seated  herself  on  her  couch  thought- 
fully. She  was  not  in  her  gentlest  temper,  for 
she  was  vexed  at  her  failure  to  snare  Perpetua, 
and  she  was  restless  after  denying  her  door  to  so 
many  friends  for  a  king  who  did  not  come,  and 
now  perhaps  sent  his  fool  on  love-errands.  The 
King  was  the  King;  there  was  no  one  like  the 
King;  but  was  there  a  woman  in  Syracuse  like 
herself,  or  worth  her  favors?  Mentally  she  re- 
viewed her  rivals  with  a  crafty  eye;  the  pretty 

151 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

court  peahens,  her  own  skilled  minions,  none 
could  please  the  King  so  well.  As  for  Perpetua, 
the  King's  hot  love  and  hot  hate  for  the  mountain 
maid  earned  only  her  contempt.  The  girl  might 
prove  enticing  by-and-by,  to  a  green  palate,  when 
she  was  pliant,  but  now  she  was  rough  country 
fare. 

Her  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  return  of 
Lysidice,  followed  by  a  man  so  muffled  in  a  rough 
cloak  that  he  was  impossible  to  divine.  It  might 
hide  a  king;  it  might  hide  a  beggar;  it  covered 
both.  Whoever  he  was,  the  man  stood  still  within 
a  few  feet  of  Lycabetta.  His  eyes  w^ere  watching 
her  over  his  lifted  arm,  which  draped  the  cloak 
about  his  body,  but  some  of  the  stuff  was  wound 
so  cowllike  about  his  head  that  she  could  dis- 
cover nothing  of  his  face.  Lysidice  lingered, 
curiosity  conquering  her  duty  to  depart,  and 
Lycabetta  did  not  heed  her;  she  heeded  only  the 
silent,  motionless  man. 

"Well?"  she  interrogated,  sharply,  as  the  man 
made  no  sign.  At  her  word  he  cast  his  wrapping 
from  him,  and  Lycabetta  beheld  with  some  irrita- 
tion the  twisted  form  and  writhen  features  of 

152 


THE    LILY    OF   SICILY 

the  fool  Diogenes.  Lysidice  crept  round  to  the 
other  side  of  her  mistress  and  whispered  to  her : 

"It  is  the  fool." 

Robert  moved  a  little  nearer  to  Lycabetta,  with 
strange  fear  and  strange  hope  in  his  heart. 
Through  all  the  horrors  and  denials  of  the  night, 
through  all  his  consciousness  of  a  conspiracy  he 
could  neither  fathom  nor  baffle,  his  distraught 
mind  carried  some  memory  of  Perpetua,  and  that 
memory  had  steered  him  to  the  gate  of  Lycabetta's 
garden  of  delight.  At  those  gates  he  found  no 
obstacle;  his  word  was  taken  without  question; 
no  unbridled  hand  sought  to  draw  the  mantle 
from  his  face;  unchallenged,  untroubled,  he  had 
made  his  way  through  the  sweet-smelling  lawns 
and  arbors  to  Lycabetta's  door.  Perhaps  she 
was  not  in  the  conspiracy;  perhaps  she  was 
loyal.  These  thoughts  were  racing  through  his 
mind  as  he  stood  before  her  and  cast  the  man- 
tle from  him  ;  these  thoughts  forced  him  tow- 
ards her,  forced  him,  with  lips  parted  eagerly, 
pitifully,  like  the  lips  of  a  thirst-goaded  man,  to 
speak. 

"Do  you  know  me?"  he  gasped,  hoarsely,  and 

153 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

his  voice  sounded  strange  and  unfamiliar  in  his 
ears,  like  the  v^oice  of  a  lost  spirit. 

Lycabetta  smiled  a  little  as  she  stretched  herself 
carelessly  on  the  couch. 

"Surely  I  know  you,"  she  answered,  and  at 
her  words  the  warm  blood  seemed  to  well  back 
into  Robert's  heart,  and  he  lifted  up  his  hands 
in  a  rapture. 

"  Heaven,"  he  cried,  "  I  thank  you  that  all  the 
world  has  not  gone  mad." 

He  mouthed  the  world's  madness  so  bitterly 
that  Lycabetta  propped  herself  on  an  elbow  and 
eyed  him  curiously.  She  disliked  Diogenes  less 
than  the  courtier-creatures  did,  for  she  had  less 
chance  to  counter  his  scathing  phrases,  and,  be- 
sides, he  was  near  the  King,  and  it  is  ever  well  to 
be  friends  with  kings'  neighbors. 

"You  seem  angry,"  she  said. 

Robert  answered  her  almost  in  a  yell. 

"Angry!  The  rage  of  hell  raves  in  me.  The 
night  is  full  of  voices,  but  I  will  not  hear  them. 
The  night  is  thick  with  terrors,  but  I  will  not  fear 
them." 

He  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room  now, 
154 


THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

striking  his  hands  together,  trampling  upon  the 
rich  furs  that  strewed  the  floor,  as  if  they  were  his 
enemies  grovelHng  at  his  feet,  so  possessed  with 
the  hysterical  passion  that  he  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten the  women  who  watched  him  and  wondered. 

Lysidice  whispered  in  a  low  voice  to  Lycabetta, 
"He  has  gone  miad." 

Lycabetta  nodded,  tacitly  agreeing.  If  the 
fool  were  mad,  as  in  very  deed  he  seemed  to  be, 
she  wished  him  well  out  of  her  borders.  Mad- 
ness was  one  of  the  ugly  things  of  life  for  which 
she  had  no  pity ;  madness  was  one  of  the  dangerous 
things  of  life,  and  of  all  dangers  she  was  greatly 
afraid.  The  fool  carried  a  dagger  at  his  girdle, 
and  it  were  well  to  pacify  him.  She  could  send 
for  the  Moorish  slaves  to  cast  him  forth,  but  if 
he  were  indeed  sent  by  the  King,  any  ill-treat- 
ment of  his  messenger  might  offend  Robert,  and 
the  anger  of  offended  Robert  might  take  uglier 
shapes  than  the  fool's  dagger.  So  she  watched 
the  figure  uneasily.  Suddenly  he  stopped  in  his 
pacing  and  turned  to  her. 

"There  is  the  strangest  treason  ab'road  in 
Sicily,"  he  cried.     "My  creatures  defy  me;  my 

155 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

friends  deny  me  They  have  set  a  sham  king  on 
my  seat;  they  bow  to  a  crowned  pretender;  they 
shall  die  to-morrow." 

Lysidice  whispered  again  to  Lycabetta,  "He 
thinks  he  is  the  King." 

Lycabetta  nodded.  She  had  heard  how  the 
fool  Diogenes  had  parodied  the  King's  manner 
and  earned  the  King's  anger.  She  knew  no  more 
than  this,  and  it  seemed  strange  that  the  King's 
rage  should  have  frightened  the  knave  into  mad- 
ness. But  he  seemed,  indeed,  insane  as  he  raged 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"Give  me  a  sword!"  he  shouted.  "Syracuse 
will  stand  by  me.  We  will  crush  this  treason 
bloodily.     Give  me  a  sword!  give  me  a  sword!" 

In  that  palace  of  pleasure  there  were  no  weapons 
of  death,  yet  Robert  ranged  the  room  wildly  as  if 
dreaming  that  some  soldier's  friend  might  lurk 
behind  silken  curtains.  Lycabetta  turned  to  her 
comrade  and  whispered  to  her  behind  her  hand : 

"The  poor  ape  is  moon-crazed — clean  out  of  his 
wits.  He  mimicked  the  King  yesterday,  and  now 
the  trick  grows  on  him." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  seemed  to  arrest  Robert 
156 


THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

in  his  search  for  a  sword,  for  he  turned  and  eyed 
them  suspiciously. 

"  Do  not  anger  him,"  Lysidice  entreated,  catch- 
ing in  her  fear  at  her  mistress's  hand.  Robert 
moved  towards  the  women,  frowning. 

"  Why  are  you  whispering?"  he  asked,  savagely. 
Lysidice  shivered,  but  Lycabetta  was  less  fearful. 
Serene  in  her  beauty,  she  was  confident  of  her  pow- 
er to  flatter  the  fool  according  to  his  folly,  and  she 
gave  him  a  deep  salutation,  mockingly  reverential. 

"We  did  but  admire  the  thunder  of  authority, 
the  lightning  of  royalty,"  she  said;  and  then, 
thinking  she  had  done  enough  to  placate  his  pas- 
sion, she  turned  to  whisper  to  Lysidice,  "Let  us 
tickle  this  fool  like  a  cracked  lute." 

Instantly  Robert's  rage  blazed  higher.  His 
bemused  senses  snuffed  treason  everywhere.  What 
might  these  two  light  women  be  plotting. 

"  If  you  whisper  again,"  he  shrieked  at  them,  "  I 
will  have  you  whipped;  I  will  have  you  crucified. 
Are  you  stained  with  treason?" 

There  was  that  in  his  voice  which  startled 
Lycabetta  from  her  indifference.  Again  she 
mimed  servility. 

157 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Have  I  offended  your  Majesty?"  she  sighed. 
"  I  pray  your  royal  pardon.  I  was  but  planning 
with  this  minion  here  some  w^ay  to  freshen  your 
spirits.     See,  I  do  you  obeisance." 

vShe  served  him  a  sweeping  salutation,  in  which 
her  lithe  body  seemed  to  swoon  at  his  feet  in 
complete  surrender.  Then,  straightening,  she 
swerved  and  called  to  her  women: 

"Girls,  girls,  girls  —  Glycerium,  Euphrosyne, 
Hypsipyle — all  of  you  come  hither." 

Obedient  to  her  voice,  the  girls  came  trooping 
in,  from  garden  and  gallery,  fluttering  like  doves, 
murmuring  like  doves.  Lycabetta  held  up  her 
hand  and  they  halted,  wonder  in  their  lovely  eyes 
to  see  the  priestess  of  Venus  giving  audience  to 
the  loathly  fool. 

"Dainties,"  Lycabetta  cried,  "his  Majesty  hon- 
ors us  with  his  presence  to-night." 

And  as  she  spoke  she  pointed  with  extended 
arm  to  the  deformed,  dishonored  man.  Glycerium 
alone  voiced  the  surprise  of  her  fellow^s. 

"His  Majesty!"  she  repeated. 

Lycabetta  swooped  in  among  her  women,  laugh- 
ing and  whispering,  catching  now  one  and  now 

158 


THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

another  of  her  pretty  minions  by  the  hand,  as  if 
seeking  to  choose  the  fairest. 

"He  is  crack-brained,  and  calls  himself  the 
King,"  she  murmured.  "Let  him  believe  it  for 
our  sport."  Then  she  called  aloud,  gulling  the 
suspicious  visitor,  "Do  homage  to  the  King, 
damsels,  and  perhaps  he  may  fling  his  favor  to 
the  one  of  you  that  dances  the  most  alluringly." 

Instantly  the  girls  made  a  rush  towards  Rob- 
ert, a  wave  of  flowing  hair,  of  laughing  faces,  of 
fluttering,  transparent  dresses,  a  wave  that  rip- 
pled close  to  him  and  then  receded  as  the  wom- 
en swayed  wantonly  into  postures  of  impudent 
supplication. 

"Long  live  the  King!"  piped  Glycerium;  and 
"God  save  the  King!"  altered  Euphrosyne;  and 
the  others,  catching  up  the  cries,  repeated  them,  a 
babble  of  merry  blessings,  while  Lycabetta  crown- 
ed the  clamor  with  the  cry  of,  "Hail  to  the  Lily 
of  Sicily!" 

Robert  waved  his  hands  angrily  to  banish  the 
bright  eyes,  the  bright  voices,  the  bright  bodies. 
They  were  supple  and  servile  enough,  but  he  did 
not  need  them  then. 

159 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Dismiss  these  women,"  he  ordered.  "I  do 
not  come  for  them." 

Lycabetta  thanked  him  with  a  deep  salutation, 
dropping  her  body  almost  to  the  ground  in  mock- 
ing reverence. 

"  You  came  for  me,  sire?"  she  asserted.  Robert 
shook  his  head  and  beckoned  her,  and  she  glided 
towards  him,  while  her  women  huddled  together 
at  the  back  of  the  hall,  quivering  with  mirth  at 
the  sport  of  fool-baiting. 

"No,  sweeting,"  Robert  said,  gravely.  No. 
We  have  shared  rose-red  hours;  you  are  made 
very  comely ;  but  there  is  one  here  more  beautiful 
than  you — than  all  the  world." 

Even  from  the  mouth  of  a  derided  fool  it  is 
never  delightful  for  loveliness  to  be  told  that  it 
is  outshone.  Lycabetta 's  lips  tightened  a  little 
as  she  asked,  "Which  is  she,  sire?" 

In  her  heart  she  promised  herself  that  when  the 
King  did  come  she  would  use  her  interest  to  gain 
master  fool  the  grace  of  a  score  of  stripes.  But 
Robert,  not  noticing  an  irritation  which  he  would 
not  have  heeded  if  he  had  seen  it,  went  on  in  his 
most  royal  manner: 

1 60 


THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

"The  mountain  maid  we  flung  to  you.  I  have 
somewhat  turned  my  thoughts.  Bring  her  to  me. 
I  think  I  will  make  her  Queen  of  Sicily  when  I 
have  overthrown  my  enemies." 

Lycabetta  found  it  hard  not  to  laugh  in  the 
fool's  face  for  his  antic  assumption  of  the  regal 
carriage,  but  her  mind  seemed  instantly  illumi- 
nated with  knowledge.  Now  she  understood  the 
presence  of  the  fool  in  her  palace.  This  was  Rob- 
ert's ugliest  revenge.  He  had  sent  this  hideous 
thing  to  prey  upon  Perpetua,  and  Lycabetta  ap- 
plauded. What  degradation  more  cruel  could  be 
found  for  stubborn  purity, 

"Do,  sire,"  she  cried,  delightedly,  clapping  her 
hands.  Robert  turned  away  from  her  and  walked 
moodily  up  and  down  the  room,  his  vexed  brain 
a  chaos  of  conflicting  purposes.  Lycabetta  moved 
towards  her  women  and  beckoned  to  Hypsipyle, 
who  hastened  to  her  side. 

"A  brave  jest,"  she  said.  "The  King,  whom 
Heaven  preserve  for  us,  his  lovers,  has  sent  this 
grimacing  fool  here  to  plague  and  shame  the 
girl  whom  his  Majesty  once  was  pleased  to  love 
and  now  is  pleased  to  hate.  It  is  a  dear  revenge 
II  i6i 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

and  worthy  of  a  great  king.  The  deformed  evil 
thing  will  make  the  girl  as  evil  as  himself  ere  he 
be  done  with  her.  Bid  the  others  begone  and 
bring  the  girl  here." 

Hypsipyle  glanced  at  the  twisted  figure  limping 
across  the  hall.  "I  would  not  like  her  lover," 
she  sneered ;  then,  hurrying  to  her  companions,  she 
and  they  vanished  through  the  curtains.  Lyca- 
betta  turned  to  Robert. 

"Sire,"  she  said,  "I  will  send  your  Majesty  his 
mountain  maid."  Robert  stopped  in  his  sham- 
bling walk  and  stared  at  her.  A  thousand  wild 
thoughts  were  warring  in  his  burning  brain,  and 
the  interruption  irked  him. 

"Very  well,"  he  muttered.  "Leave  me.  I 
have  much  to  think  of — how  to  meet  this  treason." 

Lycabetta  saluted  deeply  and  left  the  room  to 
join  her  women  in  the  cool  colonnades  of  the 
garden.  She  was  willing  enough  that  the  King 
should  wreak  his  revenge  upon  the  captive  in 
whatever  fashion  best  pleased  him.  It  might 
have  been  amusing  to  tame  the  girl  herself,  but 
it  would  certainly  have  been  troublesome ;  and  it 
was  less   trouble   to  wander  in   the  rose-strewn 

162 


THE    LILY    OF    SICILY 

galleries  among  the  painted  pillars,  entwined  with 
Lysidice  or  Hypsipyle,  whispering  strange  songs 
and  feeding  on  strange  thoughts.  There  was  even 
no  desire  in  Lycabetta's  mind  to  witness  unseen 
through  silken  curtains  the  wooing  of  fool  and 
maid.  If  Perpetua  was  passable  for  a  nymph, 
Diogenes  was  too  ugly  for  a  satyr,  and  the  sight 
of  anything  ugly  was  physically  repulsive  to 
Lycabetta.  She  would  have  beheld  with  com- 
posure any  shame  or  suffering  that  could  be  in- 
flicted upon  Perpetua  so  long  as  those  who  in- 
flicted shame  and  suffering  were  themselves  fair 
to  see,  comely  women  or  comely  men.  But  since 
it  had  suited  the  King's  pleasure  to  place  the  task 
of  punishing  Perpetua  in  the  hands  of  a  hideous 
fool,  a  crippled,  twisted  thing,  there  was  no  pleas- 
ure left  in  the  sport  for  Lycabetta.  By-and-by 
she  would  learn  how  the  fool  had  fared ;  in  the 
mean  time  the  young  moon  rode  high  in  heaven, 
the  gardens  were  rich  with  a  thousand  odors,  and 
the  voices  of  her  companions  were  very  sweet. 


X 

THE   TWO    VOICES 

Robert,  left  alone,  went  on  muttering  to  himself, 
as  he  shuffled  restlessly  up  and  down.  Through 
all  the  bewildering  discord  of  his  thoughts  the 
face  of  Perpetua  seemed  to  shine  clearly,  like  the 
light  on  a  pharos  to  a  striver  in  an  angry  sea. 
Where  so  many  had  denied  him,  she  had  recog- 
nized him.  Lycabetta  had,  indeed,  done  as  much, 
but  Lycabetta  was  the  gift  of  the  past ;  Perpetua 
was  the  promise  of  the  future.  She  and  he  would 
go  down  hand  in  hand  into  the  streets  of  Syra- 
cuse. They  would  rouse  the  people,  who  would 
surely  fight  for  such  a  king,  for  such  a  queen. 
They  would  sweep  the  palace  clean  of  their  ene- 
mies and  rule  in  Sicily  forever. 

As,  body  shambling,  mind  rambling,  he  drifted 
thus  about  the  room,  the  curtains  behind  the 
statue  of  V^enus  parted,  and  Perpetua  appeared 

i64r 


THE    TWO    VOICES 

in  the  opening,  standing  between  the  two  Moorish 
slaves.  Then  the  curtains  fell,  the  slaves  dis- 
appeared, and  Perpetua  was  left  alone  with  the 
seeming  fool.  She  recognized  him  at  once,  and 
the  fire  of  hope  flickered  higher  in  her  heart  as 
she  came  down  the  steps  and  ran  eagerly  to  meet 
him.  He  was  but  a  withered  fool,  but  still  he 
was  a  man  and  might  have  pity,  might  have 
generosity,  might  have  courage. 

"  Help  me,"  she  cried,  holding  out  her  hands  to 
him.  To  her  surprise  the  thing  she  took  to  be 
the   fool  Diogenes   advanced   as  eagerly  to  her. 

"You  are  free,  Perpetua,"  he  cried.  "Free,  if 
you  will  be  my  queen." 

Perpetua  recoiled.  "Your  queen?"  she  gasped, 
but  Robert  gave  her  no  chance  of  further  speech, 
for  he  went  on  hotly,  whipping  his  blood  with  the 
recital  of  his  wrongs. 

"Traitors  have  taken  my  throne,  traitors  have 
stolen  my  crown;  traitors  bar  the  gates  of  my 
palace  in  my  face  and  laugh  at  me  through  the 
bars;  there  is  a  false  king  in  Syracuse,  but  he 
shall  not  usurp  unchallenged." 

Perpetua's  heart  grew  cold.  "Heaven  help 
165 


THE    PROUD    PRIMCE 

me,"  she  thought  in  her  despair,  as  she  watched 
the  wild  gestures  and  hstened  to  the  wild  words 
of  her  companion.  "  He  is  crazed  beyond  all 
cure." 

Robert,  in  the  midst  of  his  vehemence,  saw  the 
sorrow  in  her  face,  saw  that  she  moved  away 
as  he  advanced  to  her. 

"Why  do  you  shrink  from  me?"  he  asked.  "  I 
mean  you  no  ill.  You  shall  be  queen;  I  swear 
you  shall  be  queen.  Come  with  me,"  and  he  held 
out  his  hand  with  an  air  of  royal  condescension 
which  contrasted  ridiculously  enough  with  his 
grotesque  outside.  Perpetua  turned  away  from 
him  with  a  little  moan.  "Alas,  poor  wretch," 
she  sighed,  her  pity  for  his  plight  for  the  moment 
overpowering  her  sense  of  her  own  peril.  Robert 
did  not  catch  her  words,  but  he  saw  her  trouble 
and  wondered  at  it. 

"What  do  you  fear?"  he  questioned,  tenderly. 
"  I  am  the  King." 

Perpetua  clasped  her  hands  together  in  an 
agony  of  compassion  for  the  unhappy  fool,  and 
for  herself,  more  helpless  and  alone  through  his 
coming. 

i66 


THE    TWO    VOICES 

"  Dear  Heaven,"  she  prayed,  "  help  me  to  mend 
this  madness." 

"  Do  you  still  shun  me?"  Robert  asked,  angrily, 
fretted  by  the  girl's  resistance.  "Am  I  young, 
smooth,  strong,  comely  to  so  little  purpose?  Is 
it  a  light  thing  to  be  a  king  like  me?" 

Perpetua  listened  to  his  ravings  in  despair. 
It  seemed  so  horrible  to  see  the  ugly  fool  stand 
there  mouthing  his  own  praises,  his  kingship. 
As  she  shrank  from  him,  her  averted  eyes  fell 
on  the  silver  mirror  which  Lycabetta  had  left 
lying  upon  her  couch.  A  sudden  wild  hope  came 
into  Perpetua's  mind.  Though  the  man's  brain 
might  be  moonstruck,  his  eyes  might  still  be 
honest,  and  a  glance  might  bring  him  back  to 
sanity.  At  least  the  test  was  worth  trying.  She 
sprang  to  the  couch,  caught  up  the  mirror,  and, 
turning  to  Robert  as  he  followed  her,  thrust, 
with  extended  arms,  the  mirror  before  his  face. 
Had  he  been  struck  by  lightning  his  advance  had 
not  stayed  more  surely. 

"God  in  heaven,"  he  cried,  in  a  dreadful  voice, 
that  made  the  girl  shiver  to  hear.  He  snatched 
the  mirror  from  her  and  stared  into  the  shining 

167 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

field,  reading  there  the  hideous  lineaments  of  the 
fool  Diogenes.  His  wild  eyes  turned  from  the 
mirror  to  her  and  back  again. 

"What  damnable  trick  is  this?  I  am  bewitch- 
ed, for  the  fool's  face  leers  at  me.  Some  devil 
reigns  in  Sicily,  who  has  put  this  stain  upon  me." 

The  tears  came  into  Perpetua's  eyes  for  the 
blighted  wretch  who  could  thus  deny  his  own 
image.  Robert  saw  the  tears  and  guessed  their 
meaning. 

"  Woman,"  he  entreated.  "  Can  you  not  pierce 
through  this  glamour?  I  am,  indeed,  the  King. 
For  holy  charity  believe  me.  Though  it  has 
pleased  Heaven  or  Hell  to  change  me  thus,  I 
am  the  King." 

He  held  out  his  hands  to  her  in  piteous  supplica- 
tion, and  for  a  moment  for  very  pity's  sake  there 
came  the  temptation  into  Perpetua's  mind  to 
humor  the  poor  ruin.  But  she  thrust  the  tempta- 
tion from  her,  and  sadly  turned  her  head.  Robert, 
with  a  groan,  flung  himself  upon  the  couch  and 
sat  there  staring  into  the  mirror,  trying  to  under- 
stand the  calamity  that  had  come  upon  him  and 
blotted  out  his  form.     In  the  shining  glass  the 

i68 


THE    TWO    VOICES 

wrinkled,  twisted  face  of  Diogenes  twitched  vi- 
ciously. Blind  rage  overswept  him,  and  he  shook 
his  fist  at  the  foul  reflection,  screaming  madly: 

"I  am  the  King!     I  am  the  King!" 

Perpetua  suffered  with  him  as  she  would  have 
suffered  with  some  wounded  forest  beast;  even 
sorrowed  more,  for  if  the  forest  beast  were  a 
dumb  thing  and  could  not  tell  its  woes,  the  fool 
could  speak,  and  his  speech  was  worse  than  si- 
lence. Her  compassionate  womanhood  sent  her 
to  his  side,  and  she  touched  him  gently  on  the 
shoulder,  trying  to  whisper  some  words  of  sym- 
pathy, of  pity. 

But  at  the  touch  of  her  hand,  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  Robert  flung  the  mirror  from  him,  and, 
springing  to  his  feet,  faced  the  girl  with  evil  in  his 
eyes.  Ugly  thoughts  crowded  upon  him,  wicked 
impulses  pricked  his  blood.  If  he  was  thus  de- 
formed, thus  degraded,  thus  stripped  of  his  youth, 
his  beauty,  and  his  power,  at  least  he  would  not 
suffer  alone;  at  least  he,  the  outcast,  had  one  at 
his  command.  The  girl  who  had  denied  the  King 
was  in  the  power  of  the  fool. 

"Do  you  sorrow  for  me,"  he  cried — "for  me, 
169 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

the  great  King,  the  fair  King?  Keep  sorrow  for 
yourself;  for,  if  my  body  be  bHghted,  yours  is 
smooth  and  soft,  and  at  my  mercy." 

He  made  a  snatch  at  her,  but  his  wild  eyes  had 
warned  her,  and  she  eluded  his  grasp.  She  felt 
herself  indeed  helpless,  in  such  a  place  and  at  a 
madman's  mercy,  but  she  prayed  and  faced  him 
with  steadfast  eyes.  He  moved  slowly  towards 
her,  gloating  over  his  purpose. 

"  Now  you  are  mine,"  he  said.  "  Doomed  as  I 
am,  degraded  as  I  am,  you  are  mine ;  you  cannot 
escape  me.     Cling  to  your  bridegroom,  bride." 

Perpetua  slowly  drew  back  from  him,  and  there 
was  that  in  her  steady  gaze  which,  in  spite  of 
himself,  restrained  him. 

"God,  grant  me  the  key  to  a  madman's  pity," 
she  prayed;  then  to  the  fool  she  pleaded:  "Sir, 
in  all  hearts  Heaven  has  set  some  spot  of  gentle- 
ness. I  am  a  woman  set  about  by  enemies, 
helpless  but  not  hopeless.  If  ever  any  woman's 
face  was  sacred  in  your  eyes,  if  ever  any  woman's 
speech  was  music  to  your  ears,  be  gentle  and 
befriend  me." 

Robert  laughed  a  malign  laugh.  He  seemed  to 
170 


THE    TWO    VOICES 

revenge   his   own   ruin   in   triumphing   over   the 
child. 

"  My  heart  is  a  harp  in  a  tree,  and  it  sings  to 
women's  voices,"  he  said.  "  But  you  must  whis- 
per me  love-words  if  you  think  to  win  me." 

Perpetua  answered  him  bravely,  hoping  for 
Heaven's  help  in  the  words  she  might  choose  to 
soothe  the  madman. 

"  I  will  not  kneel  to  you,  for  my  knees  bend  only 
to  Heaven.  But  I  will  speak  you  fair.  If  you 
were  shapely,  strong,  and  beautiful,  with  the 
white  fire  of  knighthood  glowing  in  your  soul, 
you  would  laugh  at  death  to  pluck  the  meanest 
woman  in  the  world  from  such  a  snare  as  mine 
is." 

Her  speech  stabbed  Robert  with  a  fresh  fury 
at  the  thought  of  his  transformation,  and  he  an- 
swered her,  grinning  like  a  snarling  beast : 

"If  I  were  shapely,  strong,  and  beautiful,  I 
would  do  as  I  will  do.  The  powers  that  torture 
me  have  flung  a  jewel  at  my  feet,  and  I  will  wear 
it  till  I  weary  of  it.  You  are  in  my  power,  saint- 
liness!  Discrowned,  deformed,  dishonored,  over 
you  I  can  still  be  king." 

171 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Perpetua  shook  her  head  proudly, 

"  Do  not  cheat  yourself.  I  am  not  in  your 
power." 

Robert  laughed  again. 

"  Am  I  deceived  ?  I  thought  you  were  a  prisoner 
here.  I  thought  your  jailers  flung  you  to  me 
for  my  pleasure.  I  thought  just  now  you  were 
my  suppliant.  Will  these  walls  vanish  at  your 
wish  ?  Will  those  hearts  melt  at  your  pleadings  ? 
Will  I  deny  myself  delight?  You  are  in  my 
power." 

Perpetua  watched  him  as  calmly  as  a  martyr 
of  old  days  watched  the  advance  of  the  doomsman. 

"  I  am  not  in  your  power.  I  am  young,  and  I 
love  life,  and  would  be  glad  to  grow  old  in  the 
world's  way.  But  I  would  rather  die  than  live 
with  any  stain  of  shame." 

Robert  retorted  swiftly,  mocking  her,  yet  con- 
scious, against  his  will,  of  unfamiliar  admiration 
of  opposition  to  his  will. 

"You  foolish  ermine,  Death's  angel  does  not 
come  at  a  girl's  call." 

"  She  who  finds  life  hateful  will  find  the  means 
to  end  it,"  Perpetua  said,  proudly. 

172 


THE    TWO    VOICES 

"Is  this  your  virtue?"  Robert  jeered.  "May 
meekness  do  self-murder?" 

Perpetua  lifted  her  tearless  eyes  towards  the 
painted  roof,  fretted  with  pagan  emblems. 

"When  I  appear  before  the  court  of  Heaven," 
she  answered,  quietly,  "  I  think  I  will  find  pardon 
for  that  sin." 

All  manner  of  strange  thoughts  were  contending 
for  the  supremacy  of  Robert's  reason.  Was  that 
an  aureole,  strangely  luminous,  about  her  head, 
or  only  the  wealth  of  her  red  hair?  Was  she, 
indeed,  as  brave  as  her  brave  phrases? 

"I  take  you  at  your  word,"  he  said,  more 
mildly.  "Here  is  that  which  can  set  you  free 
from  all  of  us." 

He  drew  the  fool's  dagger  from  his  girdle  and 
held  it  to  her  by  its  blade. 

"Have  you  the  heart  to  drive  this  home?"  he 
asked. 

Perpetua  seized  the  hilt  eagerly. 

"Ay,  with  all  my  heart,  into  my  heart,"  she 
cried,  with  a  confidence  that  he  could  not  ques- 
tion. "You  are  the  gentlest  tyrant  in  the  world, 
and  I  will  pray  for  you  in  paradise."     She  pressed 

173 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

the  weapon  with  both  hands  to  her  breast  and 
bowed  her  head. 

Robert  felt  certain  that  she  would  keep  her 
word,  yet  the  evil  in  him  drove  him  to  taunt  her. 
"  You  do  not  strike,"  he  said. 

Perpetua  lifted  her  bright  eyes,  and  he  read  in 
them  the  joy  of  a  white  soul  escaping  shame. 
On  his  ears  her  words  came  like  saintly  music. 
"I  do  but  commend  my  spirit  ^ to  its  Maker. 
When  it  is  done,  of  your  clemency  say  a  prayer 
by  me.     Farewell!" 

She  raised  the  weapon  in  the  air,  and  Robert's 
troubled  soul  assured  him  that  she  meant  to 
strike,  that  she  meant  to  die.  Awful  influences 
seemed  to  struggle  around  him,  darkness  striving 
with  light.  He  caught  at  the  light.  Voices  were 
calling  in  his  ears,  urging  evil,  urging  good.  He 
caught  at  the  good. 

"Stop!"  he  called.  "I  think  your  hand  has 
driven  a  devil  from  my  heart.  You  are  a  saint; 
you  have  a  soldier's  courage ;  you  have  conquered 
me.     I  am  your  servant." 

Perpetua  hid  the  knife  in  her  bosom  and  came 
close  to  Robert.     "Will  you  truly  help  me?    Let 

174 


THE    TWO    VOICES 

me  see  your  eyes.  Yes,  I  believe  you.  How 
may  we  escape?" 

Robert  drew  his  withered  body  proudly  up, 
"  I  will  command  them  to  set  you  free." 

"Alas!  poor  soul,  they  will  not  obey  you," 
Perpetua  said,  sadly. 

Robert  fell  from  his  high  estate  in  a  second. 
"Oh,  God,  I  had  forgotten,"  he  groaned.  He 
clasped  his  hands;  his  lips  murmured  a  prayer 
for  strength  to  bear  his  cross,  for  strength  to  serve 
this  woman.  For  the  second  time  in  his  sinful 
life  he  was  thinking  of  another  than  himself,  and 
that  other  was  Perpetua.  He  turned  to  her  with 
what  he  meant  to  be  a  smile.  "  Then  we  are  weak 
things,  you  and  I,  a  fool  and  a  woman,  and  we 
must  fight  force  with  craft.     Do  you  trust  me?" 

"I  trust  you,"  Perpetua  said,  simply. 

Robert  came  close  to  her  and  whispered  in  her 
jear.  "  Seem  to  consent  to  this  cruel  jest  of  theirs. 
I  will  say  I  have  cast  a  spell  upon  you,  and  that 
you  can  refuse  me  nothing.  When  I  command 
you  to  follow  me,  say  that  you  obey.  Once  you 
are  outside  these  gates,  you  will  be  safe.  Do  you 
understand?" 

175 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Perpetua  looked  at  him  with  shining  eyes.  "  I 
understand  that  I  have  found  a  friend." 

The  words  seemed  to  burn  Robert's  heart  with 
purifying  fire.  "A  slave  who  will  serve  you 
faithfully,"  he  whispered.  "Hush,  some  one  is 
coming." 


XI 

GLAMOUR 

The  hangings  behind  the  image  of  Venus  parted, 
and  Lycabetta  surveyed  the  strange  pair.  She 
had  grown  weary  of  the  garden,  grown  curious  to 
t^now  how  the  fool  had  progressed  with  his  wooing. 

"Well,"  she  asked,  "are  the  lovers  happy?" 

Perpetua  folded  her  arms  in  silence  as  Lycabetta 
descended  the  steps,  but  Robert  danced  up  to 
the  Neapolitan  antically. 

"A  marvel,  a  marvel,"  he  carolled;  "I  have 
won  the  mad  maid's  heart." 

Lycabetta  stared  at  him.  "  Does  Andromeda 
dote  on  the  monster?  Does  Beauty  love  the 
Beast?" 

Robert  jigged  and  skipped  in  front  of  her,  al- 
most singing  his  words.  If  he  had  the  fool's  shape, 
he  would  play  the  fool's  part  to  save  Perpetua. 
"  Bah,  the  husk  belies  the  kernel.  I  am  skilled 
12  177 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

in  philtres — I  can  cast  love  spells  as  well  as  the 
straightest  and  the  smoothest." 

"Love-making  has  mended  your  wits,"  said 
Lycabetta.  "  So  you  no  longer  think  yourself  the 
King." 

Robert  laughed  wildly.  "King  or  no  king," 
he  gibbered,  "I  sway  a  maid's  heart."  He  was 
playing  his  part  bravely,  for  the  air  seemed  full  of 
voices  calling,  "  Save  Perpetual" 

"Does  the  girl  accept  you?"  Lycabetta  ques- 
tioned. 

"Accept  me?"  Robert  echoed,  gleefully.  "I 
have  so  overcome  her  that  she  will  woo  me  in 
season  and  out  of  season.  ^  I  shall  boast  the  most 
loving,  patient  spouse  in  Christendom.  Mark, 
now,  how  my  bird  flies  to  a  call.  Come  hither, 
rusticity." 

He  beckoned,  and  Perpetua  moved  slowly 
towards  him,  outwardly  calm.  "Do  you  take 
me  for  your  lord  and  master?"  he  asked  her. 

"Ay,"  Perpetua  answered. 

Lycabetta  looked  at  the  girl's  grave  face  in 
amaze.  "  This  is  a  wonder,"  she  said ;  "  she  seems 
spellbound." 

178 


GLAMOUR 

Robert  nodded  joyously.  "Why,  I  have  cast 
the  glamour  upon  her,  and  she  will  listen  to  me 
as  the  fish  listened  to  St.  Anthony.  Will  you 
swear  to  obey  me,  maiden?" 

Again  Perpetua  answered,  "Ay." 

"Are  you  in  league  with  the  devil?"  Lyca- 
betta  asked,  astonished  at  the  girl's  acquies- 
cence. 

Robert  grinned  impishly.  "  I  will  not  sell  my 
secret.  I  suppose  you  do  not  care  how  I  conquer 
the  maid,  so  long  as  I  do  conquer  her." 

"So  long  as  you  do  what  the  King  wishes," 
Lycabetta  answered,  contemptuously. 

"I  swear  I  will  do.  what  the  King  wishes," 
Robert  retorted.  "She  shall  be  humble  enough, 
she  shall  be  wise  enough  when  I  am  done  with 
her.  You  are  skilled  in  mischief ;  but  I  still  could 
be  your  school-master.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Orpheus  and  his  magic  lute?" 

"What  of  it?"  Lycabetta  asked. 

"He  could  pipe  so  divinely,"  Robert  related, 
"  that  all  things  must  needs  follow  him,  not  merely 
men  and  women,  birds  and  beasts,  but  silly  stocks 
and  stones ;  and  your  phlegmatic  stay  -  at  -  home 

1/9 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

tree  would  needs  uproot  itself  and  skip  to  his 
jingle.  Well,  you  shall  see  this  intractable  virgin 
follow,  lamblike,  when  I  pipe,  as  I  lead  the  way 
to  my  hovel." 

"  If  you  can  do  this,  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  rid  of 
her,"  Lycabetta  confessed.  "I  have  better  use 
for  my  hours  than  the  training  of  country 
girls." 

Robert  came  nearer  to  her,  confiding:  "  I  know 
a  spell  my  master  mountebank  taught  me.  A 
Greek  fellow  made  it,  a  Roman  rogue  stole  it,  an 
Italian  rascal  gave  a  new  twist  to  it;  here  is  the 
pith  of  it.  Oh,  it  sounds  simple  enough,  but  it 
will  win  a  matron  from  her  allegiance,  a  nun  from 
her  orisons,  a  maid  from  her  modesty.  See,  now, 
how  she  will  trip  to  my  whistle.  Mistress 
Modesty,  Mistress  Modesty,  follow  me  home,  fol- 
low me  home,  follow  me  home!" 

He  took  up  the  lute  Euphrosyne  had  laid 
down,  and  moved  around  the  room  slowly,  play- 
ing a  quaint  little  country-side  air  in  a  minor 
key,  while  he  chanted  his  song,  and,  as  he  went, 
Perpetua  moved  slowly  after  him,  as  if  compelled 
by  the  spell  of  the  music : 

1 80 


GLAMOUR 

"By  the  music  of  the  morn, 
When  equipped  with  spear  and  shield, 

Oberon,  the  elfin-born, 

Winding  on  his  wizard  horn, 
Calls  the  fairies  to  the  field — 
I  conjure  thee,  maiden,  yield! 

"  By  the  magic  of  the  moon. 

When  Diana  from  her  dome 

Wakes  from  slumber,  woos  from  swoon 
All  the  folk  who  fear  the  noon. 

Dwarf  and  kobold,  witch  and  gnome — 

1  conjure  thee,  maiden,  come! 

"  By  the  beauty,  by  the  bliss 
Of  the  ancient  gods  who  ride 

Eros,  Phoebus,  Artemis, 

Aphrodite,  side  by  side. 

Through  the  purple  eventide, 
On  the  cloudy  steeds  of  Dis — 
I  conjure  thee,  maiden,  kiss." 

Lycabetta  watched,  astounded,  the  submission 
with  which  Perpetua  followed  the  incantation  of 
the  fool.  "This  is  the  black  magic,"  she  said; 
and  then  asked  Perpetua,  "Are  you  content  to 
follow  this  fool?" 

Perpetua  paused  in  her  patient  following  of  the 
i8i 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

singer,  and,  looking  Lycabetta  full  in  the  face, 
she  answered,  "Ay." 

Lycabetta  raised  protesting  hands.  "And  to 
go  with  him  where  he  will?"  she  persisted. 

Again  Perpetua  answered,  "Ay." 

Robert  interrupted  the  colloquy  with  a  sweep 
of  the  strings  that  drifted  into  a  new  tune  with 
new  words : 

"Caper,  sweeting,  while  I  play; 
Love  and  lover,  we  will  stray 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 

He  beckoned  to  the  girl  and  ambled  backward 
towards  the  entrance,  obediently  followed  by 
Perpetua. 

As  he  was  about  to  pass  luting  through  the 
entrance,  Lysidice  parted  the  curtains  and  en- 
tered the  room.  Robert  fell  back  to  give  her 
passage.  With  a  reverence  to  Lycabetta,  she 
said: 

"The  Lord  Hildebrand  waits  without." 

The  news  brought  very  different  thoughts  to 
the  three  hearers.  Lycabetta,  always  willing  to 
welcome  the  King's  favorite,  gave  order  gladly 

182 


GLAMOU 

enough  to  admit  him.  In  Robert's  mind  the  name 
rekindled  hopes  that  had  died  away.  His  heart's 
friend,  his  brother  in  arms,  the  companion  of  his 
vices,  the  flatterer  of  his  follies,  he  surely  would 
not  be  deceived  by  the  fantastic  transformation. 
Flinging  aside  his  lute,  he  shouted,  joyously: 
"  Hildebrand!     Surely  he  will  know  me." 

Perpetua's  heart  grew  cold  at  this  proof  of 
renewed  madness,  and  she  caught  him  by  the  arm. 
"Do  not  abandon  me,"  she  entreated. 

Robert  shook  her  off  in  his  eagerness  to  greet 
Hildebrand.  "No,  no,  have  no  fear — "  he 
promised,  hurriedly,  pressing  forward  towards  the 
entrance.  The  hangings  parted  and  Hildebrand 
entered,  exquisite,  debonair,  radiant. 

"Salutations,  sweet  lady,"  he  said,  gayly,  ad- 
vancing towards  her,  but  his  advance  was  in- 
terrupted by  Robert,  who  rushed  forward,  ex- 
claiming: "Hildebrand!  Hildebrand!  do  you  not 
know  me?     Do  you  not  know  my  voice?" 

Hildebrand  frowned  resentfully  on  the  in- 
truder. "Why  are  you  here,  fool!"  he  grumbled. 
Your  head  and  your  hump  are  like  to  part  com- 
pany." 

183 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Robert  gave  a  great  groan  and  turned  away. 
His  last  hope  had  withered.  The  spell  under 
which  he  suffered  was  too  potent  for  his  dearest 
friend  to  resist;  even  the  eye  of  comradeship 
could  not  pierce  through  that  fleshly  mask;  even 
the  ear  of  affection  could  not  discern  a  familiar 
voice.  Perpetua  stood  where  she  was,  full  of 
dread  at  this  untimely  interruption.  Lycabetta 
tapped  her  forehead  mockingly  as  she  looked  from 
Diogenes  to  Hildebrand. 

"The  crazy  zany  thinks  he  is  the  King,"  she 
said. 

Hildebrand  nodded.  "  He  mimicked  the  King 
so  pertly  yesterday  morn  that  the  King  doomed 
him,  and  fear  has  so  addled  his  weak  wits  that  he 
believes  himself  to  be  his  master." 

"Yet  he  is  a  cunning  rogue,"  Lycabetta  add- 
ed, "for  he  has  won  the  heart  of  the  wood- 
chuck." 

Hildebrand  caught  at  her  words.  "  I  came  on 
that  business.     Have  you  obeyed  the  King?" 

"Bravely,"  Lycabetta  replied.  "I  flung  her 
to  this  fool  for  a  marriage  morsel,  knowing  him  to 
be  as  cruel  as  he  is  crooked,  and,  by  our  Lady  of 

184 


GLAMOUR 

Lesbos,   he  has  bewitched  her,   and  she  follows 
his  songs  like  a  lamb  to  the  sacrifice." 

At  the  sound  of  her  words,  Robert  roused  him- 
self from  his  lethargy.  "Ay,  ay,"  he  chirped, 
"you  shall  see.  She  will  follow  where  I  call. 
Come,  sweetheart,  come!" 

Again  he  began  to  move,  and  again  he  was 
followed  by  Perpetua.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
Hildebrand  caught  sight  of  her  and  moved  for- 
ward, captured  by  her  loveliness. 

"Is  this  the  King's  fancy?"  he  asked. 

Lycabetta  answered:  "This  is  the  girl  the  King 
sent  me  to  tame  and  shame  for  him.  Could  I  do 
it  better  than  by  giving  her  to  this  limping  devil?" 

Hildebrand  struck  his  hands  loudly  together  in 
protest.  "Ay,  by  the  gods,  much  better.  She 
is  far  too  fair  for  the  first  sweetness  of  her  youth 
to  be  wasted  on  a  clumsy  clown.  We  are  ourselves 
indifferent  good  at  this  taming  and  the  rest,  and, 
like  a  loyal  subject,  I  will  gladly  serve  the  King  in 
this."  He  advanced  towards  Perpetua,  but  Rob- 
ert instantly  came  betweeen  them. 

"The  girl  is  mine,"  he  asserted.  "You  shall 
not  take  her  from  me." 

185 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Hildebrand  grinned  maliciously.  "Gently, 
beast,  gently,"  he  purred.  "  You  shall  have  your 
turn  by-and-by.  You  must  give  place  to  your 
betters,  bowback." 

Robert  glared  at  him  in  hate.  "  I  say  you 
shall  not  have  her!"  he  repeated. 

Lycabetta  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughing.  "  Have 
a  care,  my  lord,"  she  warned;  "the  fool's  eyes 
roll  horridly,  and  his  mouth  twitches.  He  will 
do  you  hurt  if  you  steal  his  leman." 

"You  shall  not  have  her!"  Robert  insisted, 
fiercely. 

Hildebrand's  affability  vanished.  "Out  of  the 
way,  monkey!"  he  ordered;  then,  catching  Robert 
lightly  by  the  collar,  he  cast  him  aside  as  easily 
as  he  might  have  cast  a  kitten.  Robert  staggered 
and  fell  on  his  knees.  Unheeding  him,  Hildebrand 
went  towards  Perpetua.  "You  lithe  idol  of  the 
heights,"  he  asked,  smiling,  "would  you  not 
choose  me  for  ^'■our  paramour?" 

Perpetua  looked  steadily  at  her  new  danger,  and 
her  heart  was  glad  to  think  of  the  knife  that  lay 
hidden  in  her  bosom.  "  I  will  go  with  the  fool," 
she  said. 

i86 


GLAMOUR 

In  the  corner  where  he  knelt  unnoticed  Robert 
was  muttering  confused,  disjointed  prayers  to 
Heaven.  The  passionate  desire  to  save  the  girl 
revived  within  him,  and  he  implored  the  Heaven 
that  he  had  wronged  for  help. 

At  Perpetua's  speech,  Lycabetta  clapped  her 
hands  derisively.  "  I  said  he  had  bewitched 
her." 

"We  will  exorcise  her,"  Hildebrand  laughed 
back,  and  advanced  towards  the  girl.  Perpetua 
drew  away  a  little,  regarding  Hildebrand  with 
a  steadiness  that  puzzled  him,  resolved  to  drive 
the  knife  into  her  heart  before  he  could  lay  hand 
on  her.  To  Robert,  where  he  lay  huddled,  the 
spinning  seconds  seemed  to  be  beating  against 
his  ears  like  the  booming  of  great  bells,  and 
through  their  clangor  came  a  babble  of  brisk 
voices  reproaching  him,  mocking  him.  "  Now  for 
one  hour,"  they  seemed  to  say,  "of  that  royal 
power  which  you  have  used  so  ill,  and  now  might 
use  so  nobly."  Again  his  agony  spurred  him  to 
supplicate  Heaven  to  send  him  some  thought  that 
might  save  her,  but  no  thought  came ;  he  was  weak, 
helpless,  dishonored,  and  through  the  darkness  of 

187 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

his  soul  the  voices  of  his  enemies  stabbed  him  Hke 
many  arrows. 

Lycabetta,  seeing  how  Hildebrand  paused  for 
a  moment  in  his  advance  upon  Perpetua,  stung 
him  with  a  sneer. 

"  Lord  Hildebrand,  for  a  lover  of  ladies  you  are 
at  a  loss.     She  clings  to  her  cripple." 

Hildebrand,  irritated,  made  a  step  forward,  and 
again  Perpetua  moved  a  step  away.  Hildebrand 
frowned,  accustomed  to  conquest. 

"You  shun  me,  child,"  he  protested,  "as  if  I 
had  the  plague." 

The  plague! 

At  those  words  the  booming  bells  ceased,  the 
babbling  voices  ceased ;  Robert's  darkness  became 
light;  an  inspiration  told  him  what  to  do.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  advanced  towards  Hilde- 
brand, barring  his  way  to  Perpetua.  With  out- 
stretched palms,  with  cringing  shoulders,  he  ap- 
pealed to  Hildebrand,  to  Lycabetta. 

"  Sweet  lord,  sweet  lady,  I  entreat  a  sweet  word 
with  you." 

Perpetua,  who  had  lifted  her  hand  to  clasp  the 
handle  of  the  knife,  let  it  fall  again.     Hildebrand, 


GLAMOUR 

who  had  forgotten  the  fool's  existence,  scowled 
and  snarled  at  him. 

" To  heel,  sirrah,  to  heel!" 

Lycabetta  shook  with  mirth.  "You  forget, 
my  lord,"  she  suggested,  "  that  it  is  the  King  who 
addresses  you." 

"I'll  wring  his  majesty's  neck,"  Hildebrand 
answered,  savagely,  "if  he  vexes  me  further." 

"  Nay,  if  he  vexes  you,  there  be  others  for 
that  task,"  and  Lycabetta  struck  sharply  with  a 
golden  hammer  upon  a  golden  gong.  Immediately 
the  curtains  parted  and  Zal  and  Rustum  entered. 
At  their  heels  came  several  of  Lycabetta's  women, 
wondering  at  the  summons. 

Lycabetta  pointed  to  Robert. 

"Cast  the  fool  forth,"  she  commanded. 

The  black  slaves  descended  the  steps.  Robert 
turned  a  mocking,  mouthing  face  towards  Lyca- 
betta. 

"Wait,  wait,"  he  said;  "I  have  a  tale  to  tell 
that  should  divert  you  much." 

Something  in  the  fool's  fantastic  manner,  in  his 
grotesque  attitude,  in  his  promise  of  diversion, 
took   Lycabetta's   fitful   fancy.     She   held   up   a 

189 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

hand  and  the  slaves  halted.  Robert,  who  had 
edged  a  little  nearer  to  where  Perpetua  stood, 
wondering  what  strange  purpose  urged  the 
fool,  was  making  singular  gestures  wdth  his 
hands,  as  one  inviting,  even  commanding  atten- 
tion. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  a  strange 
sound  in  it  of  defiance,  of  dominion,  of  frightful 
triumph,  that  jarred  horridly  on  his  hearers.  "  It 
was  cold  on  the  hills  to-night  and  the  wind  chilled 
me.  By  the  road-side  near  the  city's  gate  I  found 
one  who  slept  or  seemed  to  sleep.  Wait,  wait,  my 
tale  is  wonderful  and  worth  your  patience.  The 
sleeper  was  wrapped  in  a  great  mantle.  Why 
should  he  lie  snug  while  I  shivered?  I  would 
have  killed  him  sleeping  to  steal  his  cloak,  but  I 
was  spared  the  pains,  for  as  I  twitched  at  a  corner 
of  it  the  fellow  rolled  in  a  lump  before  me  and 
lay  there  dead.  Wait,  wait,  your  patience  shall 
not  be  strained  to  breaking,  and  my  adventure  is 
good  hearing.  Aly  man  lay  on  his  back  in  the 
moonlight,  staring  stupidly,  and  I  who  looked  saw 
that  his  face  was  drawn  and  twisted,  as  if  he  had  . 
died  in  great  pain;  his  teeth  were  dropping  from 

190 


GLAMOUR 

their  livid  gums  and  his  skin  was  stained  and 
mottled  and  discolored,  blue  and  black  and  green, 
and  he  seemed  to  rot  as  I  watched  him.  But  I 
was  cold  and  I  fear  nothing,  being  a  fool,  so  I  went 
my  ways,  warm  in  his  mantle.  What  do  I  care 
for  the  plague?" 

The  plague! 

At  that  name  the  listeners  shivered  as  if  a  wind 
of  death  had  blown  through  the  heavy  scented  air. 
Hildebrand  drew  back  in  horror,  gasping  the 
dreaded  words,  "The  plague!"  Lycabetta  grew 
white  with  fear.  "Oh,  gods,  the  plague!"  she 
moaned,  groping  for  support  which  none  gave 
her.  Her  women  fluttered  together  paralyzed 
with  terror,  and  the  black  slaves  recoiled 
from  the  one  enemy  their  courage  dared  not 
face. 

Robert,  lifting  his  hands  as  if  in  a  -kind  of 
hideous  benediction,  gibbered  at  their  fear. 

' '  The  very  plague !"  he  screamed.  ' '  The  plague 
is  in  the  port,  the  plague  is  on  the  city,  the 
plague  is  at  your  gates !  What  care  I  if  all  Syr- 
acuse dies  of  it!  My  mantle  reeks  with  its 
sweat." 

191 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

With  a  rattle  of  damnable  laughter  Robert 
clutched  at  his  mantle,  which  lay  where  he  had 
cast  it  down  when  he  entered,  now  near  his  feet. 
Fluttering  it  in  the  air  so  that  its  folds  seemed  to 
quiver  like  the  pinions  of  a  fiend,  he  flung  it  upon 
Perpetua  and  swathed  it  tightly  about  her  un- 
resisting body.  To  her  the  plague  was  better 
than  self-slaughter,  as  self-slaughter  was  better 
than  pollution.  Still  the  others  cowered,  spell- 
bound by  their  dread. 

"Who  will  woo -her  now?"  Robert  screamed, 
folding  her  in  his  arms.  "Who  now  will  draw 
death  from  her  lips?  If  she  dies,  she  dies  mine, 
and  I  will  sit  hunched  by  her  side  and  watch  her 
white  flesh  wither." 

While  he  shrieked  he  was  dragging  Perpetua 
towards  the  entrance,  and  now  he  caught  at  the 
silken  hangings,  while  his  voice,  swelling  in  volume 
of  malignant  imprecation,  yelled  at  his  terrified 
enemies,  "The  plague!  the  plague!  make  way 
there  for  the  plague!" 

There  was  no  one  to  say  him  nay.  With  a 
scream  Lycabetta  fell  fainting  to  the  floor,  Hilde- 
brand  was  trying  to  cross  himself  with  nerveless 

192 


GLAMOUR 

fingers,  the  women  were  sobbing  hysterically,  and 
the  slaves  had  fled. 

Robert  and  Perpetua  passed  unchallenged  from 
the  room  and  from  the  house. 


XII 

IN    SYRACUSE 

Once  in  the  moonlit  darkness  of  the  gardens, 
maid  and  man  took  hands  and  ran  as  swiftly  as 
they  could  through  the  scented  night.  They 
could  not  go  overfast,  and  it  was  the  maid's  hand 
that  helped  the  man,  not  the  man's  hand  the  maid. 
Perpetua  was  as  fleet  as  a  deer,  but  the  degraded 
King  limped  like  the  fool  whose  likeness  had  been 
flung  upon  him,  and  Perpetua  had  to  slacken  her 
speed  in  order  that  he  might  keep  pace  with  her. 
But  there  were  no  signs  of  pursuit  from  the  house 
of  Lycabetta.  The  terror  of  the  plague  was  so 
great  that  Robert's  mantle  was  an  unquestion- 
able defence.  The  most  licentious  3^outh  in 
Syracuse  would  not  go  near  the  loveliest  woman 
if  he  had  the  least  reason  to  believe  that  she  had 
been  but  lightly  touched  by  a  plague-spotted 
garment.     Limping  and  running,  their  shadows 

194 


IN    SYRACUSE 

streaming  behind  them  on  the  white  path  that 
threaded  the  cypresses,  they  reached  the  golden 
gates  which  opened  without  demur  to  Robert's 
summons  in  the  King's  name,  and  in  another 
instant  they  were  speeding  on  the  level  highway 
to  the  city.  No  word  passed  between  them;  the 
dominant  thought  of  each  was  to  get  as  far  as 
might  be,  as  soon  as  might  be,  from  the  place 
sacred  to  the  strange  Venus. 

Suddenly,  as  they  reached  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  Robert  tugged  at  Perpetua's  hand  and 
stayed  her  flight.  In  an  angle  of  a  house  at  the 
corner  of  a  street  there  was  a  niche.  In  the  niche 
was  the  image  of  a  saint,  and  at  the  feet  of  the 
image  the  little  flame  of  a  votive  lamp  flickered 
in  the  soft  air.  Robert  dropped  on  his  knees  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  Perpetua  immediate- 
ly knelt  by  his  side,  and  the  two  fugitives  prayed 
silently,  earnestly  for  some  moments.  Perpetua's 
simple  prayer  was  first  that  Heaven  might  be 
pleased  to  deliver  the  fool  from  his  delusion,  and 
next  that  she  might  be  strengthened  to  face  and 
accept  her  '  threatened  fate.  Robert's  prayers 
were  incoherent,  confused  supplications  for  pity, 

195 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

for  pardon,  whirling  with  ejaculations  of  gratitude 
for  having  been  permitted  to  rescue  the  maid 
from  her  enemies. 

Perpetua  rose  first,  and  stood,  observing  with 
infinite  pity  how  the  deformed  body  of  the  fool 
shook  with  the  storm  of  emotions  that  seemed  to 
convulse  him.  Suddenly  Robert  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  faced  her. 

"Did  you  hear  nothing?"  he  asked.  Perpetua 
shook  her  head  reassuringly,  for  she  thought  that 
he  meant  the  sound  of  pursuing  feet,  but  Robert 
persisted. 

"Did  you  not  hear  a  voice  that  said,  'He 
will  cast  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats?'  " 

"  I  heard  nothing,  Perpetua  answered,  wonder- 
ing; then  in  the  darkness  the  thought  of  their 
threatened  doom  came  upon  her  anew  like  a 
black  and  icy  shadow. 

"Is  there  no  cure  for  the  plague?"  she  asked, 
faintly,  her  face  strained  towards  his.  She  al- 
most hated  herself  for  asking;  better  to  die  of 
the  plague  than  to  live  at  the  pleasure  of  Hilde- 
brand.  But  she  was  young,  and  life  had  been 
bright.     To  her  astonishment  her  companion  an- 

196 


IN    SYRACUSE 

swered  her  question  with  a  laugh  that  twisted  his 
thin  cheeks  fantastically: 

"You  need  not  fear  the  plague,  child,"  he  said; 
and  as  he  spoke  his  voice  sounded  kinder  than 
she  had  ever  heard  it.  "  My  cloak  was  my  own 
clean  mantle,  and  came  from  no  dead  sailor's 
carcass.  I  played  on  their  terrors  as  I  played 
on  the  lute-strings.  I  knew  that  a  whisper  of  the 
plague  would  palsy  their  hearts,  and  I  conquered 
them  with  a  lying  tale."  He  added,  in  a  graver 
tone:  "For  the  which  falsehood  I  have  but  now 
prayed  Heaven  to  forgive  me.  I  hope  my  one 
good  deed  may  be  pardoned  to  one  in  whom  there 
is  so  much  to  pardon." 

Perpetua  was  amazed  at  the  change  that  had 
come  over  the  fool.  He  seemed  saner,  gentler, 
and,  as  she  looked  at  him  now  in  the  moonlight, 
his  features  did  not  show  so  wholly  repulsive  as 
she  had  first  esteemed  them.  Robert  read  the 
amazement  in  her  eyes. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "do  you  truly  trust  me 
now?" 

She  extended  her  hands  to  him  frankly,  her 
heart  swelHng  with  gratitude,  big  with  the  two- 

197 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

fold  joy  of  escape  from  the  house  of  Lycabetta 
and  release  from  the  terror  of  the  plague. 
"I  do,"  she  answered,  "with  all  my  heart." 
Robert  caught  at  her  outstretched  hands,  and, 
dropping  on  his  knees  in  the  causeway,  kissed 
them  reverentially.  Then  he  rose  and  faced  her, 
and  as  he  did  so  it  seemed  to  the  maiden  that  his 
body  was  really  less  distorted  than  it  appeared 
on  a  first  view. 

"Perpetua,"  he  said,  and  he  named  her  name 
very  tenderly.  "  Perpetua,  I  am  going  to  take 
you  to  a  place  of  safety.  Such  women  as  Lyca- 
betta, such  men  as  Hildebrand,  are  ever  to  be 
feared;  we  have  fooled  them  for  the  hour,  but 
they  may  learn  that  they  have  been  befooled,  and 
the  knowledge  will  make  them  revengeful.  There 
is  an  ancient  church  in  Syracuse,  by  the  sea, 
whose  crypt  communicates  with  the  catacombs 
that  burrow  into  the  rock.  Hieronymus  is  its 
priest,  famous  as  a  good  and  holy  man.  He  will 
shelter  you,  protect  you;  if  there  be  danger  you 
can  hide  in  the  catacombs,  where  our  enemies 
might  seek  in  vain  for  a  century.  Come,  shall 
we  go  to  Hieronymus?" 

198 


IN    SYRACUSE 

"Let  us  go,"  she  said;  then  suddenly;  "But 
you,  you  too  are  in  danger.  The  King's  anger, 
the  anger  of  Hildebrand  —  you  must  evade 
these." 

A  melancholy  smile  came  over  the  foolish  face 
and  lent  it  a  kind  of  grace. 

"  Perhaps  the  good  father  may  find  some  nook 
for  me.  I  do  not  think  his  heart  will  be  hard, 
even  to  me,  a  sinner.     Come." 

He  turned  as  if  to  lead  the  way,  then  paused 
and  spoke  to  her  again. 

' '  Perpetua , "  he  said .  ' '  Your  trust  in  the  fool ' ' — 
the  girl  noticed  that  he  shuddered  as  he  spoke, 
and  she  wondered  —  "your  trust  in  the  fool  is 
not  unwisely  placed.  In  the  name  of  that  trust, 
ask  me,  I  pray  you,  no  questions  of  my  past. 
Let  us  believe  between  us  that  the  fool  Diogenes" 
— and  again  the  convulsive  shudder  wrung  him — 
"was  newly  bom  to-day." 

"I  will  do  as  you  wish,"  she  answered,  full  of 
amazement  at  the  change  which  had  come  to  his 
warped  wits. 

He  took  her  hand  and  guided  her  through  the 
streets  of  Syracuse  to  the  little  church  by  the  sea. 

199 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

The  moon  shone  brightly  on  them  as  they  went, 
the  moon  which  swayed  Syracuse,  making  lovers 
kiss,  poets  dream,  philosophers  sigh,  children 
sport,  dogs  bay.  It  guided  them,  benignly,  to 
their  goal. 


XIII 
THE  CHURCH  BY  THE  SEA 

The  moon  which  had  shone  upon  the  flight  of 
Perpetua  had  waxed  and  waned,  and  her  successor 
ruled  the  night  in  the  pride  of  her  first  quarter. 
Early  one  morning  in  the  new  month  one  of 
Lycabetta's  women,  Lysidice,  amber-haired,  slen- 
der-limbed, with  eyes  like  sapphires,  was  wan- 
dering in  the  flower-market  of  Syracuse,  seeking 
the  loveliest  blooms  for  her  mistress.  Lycabetta 
loved  Lysidice  above  her  fellows,  for  her  slim, 
boyish  body,  for  her  quaint,  virginal  air ;  she  had 
not  yet  tired  of  the  morning  sport  when  Lysidice 
came  from  the  flower-market  and  pelted  her  with 
many  colored  blossoms.  So  as  Lysidice,  eager  to 
please,  went  hither  and  thither,  seeking  ever  the 
best,  her  attention  was  attracted  by  the  sight  of 
a  man  in  a  friar's  robe,  who  was  buying  white 
roses  at  a  stall.     Though  friars  did  not  often  buy 

201 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

roses  in  the  Syracuse  flower-market,  the  thing 
was  not  in  itself  passing  strange,  but  the  fancy  of 
Lysidice,  arrested  at  first  by  the  contrast  between 
the  friar  in  his  humble  robe,  with  all  that  it  sug- 
gested of  denial,  and  the  glory  of  the  brilliant 
blooms  about  him,  noted  that  the  friar  kept  his 
cowl  so  close  about  his  face  as  to  conceal  it  com- 
pletely from  view. 

The  mere  fact  that  the  man  in  thus  muffling 
himself  seemed  to  indicate  a  desire  not  to  be  seen 
was  enough  to  spur  the  curiosity  of  Lysidice  into 
a  determination  to  see.  She  tiptoed  through 
the  flower-stalls  and  fruit-stalls;  she  ambushed 
behind  piles  of  melons ;  she  peeped  through  clusters 
of  grapes  and  bunches  of  lilies.  The  friar  was 
choosing  the  loveliest  of  the  white  roses;  he  was 
eager  to  choose  only  the  loveliest;  as  he  stooped 
over  them  in  his  eagerness,  a  little  breeze  caught 
for  a  moment  the  cowl  that  hooded  him,  filled 
out  its  folds,  and  showed  a  momentary  glimpse 
of  features  that  Lysidice  remembered  well,  the 
features  of  the  fool  who  had  fled  from  the  house 
of  Lycabetta  a  month  before,  bearing  with  him 
the  girl  from  the  hills  and  leaving  behind  him  the 

202 


THE    CHURCH    BY    THE    SEA 

terror  of  the  plague.  In  a  moment  the  friar's 
lean  hand  had  pulled  the  hood  close  again  about 
his  cheeks,  about  his  chin,  but  the  glimpse  had 
been  enough  for  Lysidice. 

What  news  would  be  so  welcome  to  Lycabetta, 
languorous  Lycabetta,  as  news  of  the  where- 
abouts of  the  fool  who  had  caused  her  so  many 
hours  of  mortal  anguish.  Lysidice  shivered  still 
in  the  warm  air  at  the  thought  of  that  night 
when  all  in  the  palace  of  pleasure  believed  them- 
selves to  be  plague-stricken,  and  of  the  slow 
relief  that  came  with  day  and  the  assurances 
of  the  physicians  that  Hildebrand  had  at  last 
found  strength  to  seek.  There  was  no  plague 
in  the  city;  the  fool  had  befooled  them  finely, 
carrying  off  his  prize  and  disappearing  into  an 
obscurity  so  profound  that  no  searches  could 
unearth  him.  And  now  chance  would  seem  to 
have  given  him  to  Lysidice. 

Lilting  the  burden  of  a  love-song,  she  passed 
by  the  stall  where  the  friar  stood,  and  saw, 
without  seeming  to  see,  how  the  friar  dragged  his 
hood  closer  about  his  face  and  bent  lower  over 
the  roses.     It  would  never  do  for  her,  she  knew 

203 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

well  enough,  to  attempt  to  follow  the  fool  to  his 
hiding-place.  Her  bright  robes  were  not  made 
to  play  the  spy  in.  She  strolled  unconcernedly 
to  the  end  of  the  market,  and  at  the  foot  of  a 
pillar  she  saw  a  small  boy  leisurely  devouring  a 
vast  can  tie  of  melon.  She  beckoned  the  boy 
into  the  cover  of  a  country  cart  that  had  carried 
fruit  and  vegetables  to  the  market,  and  from  that 
intrenchment  she  pointed  out  to  him  the  friar 
who  was  now  bearing  away  his  roses,  bade  the 
boy  follow  him,  and  promised  him  a  silver  piece 
if  he  would  come  back  with  news  of  the  friar's 
destination.  The  boy  understood  and  trotted  off 
after  the  unconscious  friar. 

Lysidice  had  not  to  wait  long  for  knowledge. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  boy  came  back  and  told 
her  what  she  wanted  to  know;  the  friar  had 
disappeared  within  the  doors  of  a  little  church 
by  the  sea  -  shore,  not  many  yards  distant,  a 
church  under  the  charge  of  an  austere  religious, 
Father  Hieronymus.  Delighted,  Lysidice  gave 
the  urchin  his  piece  of  silver  and  scurried  hot- 
foot home. 

Robert,  on  his  side — for  the  friar  was,  indeed, 
204 


THE    CHURCH    BY    THE    SEA 

he  who  wore  the  fool's  face — had  seen  Lysidice 
as  she  passed  him,  and  had  pulled  his  cowl  closer 
about  his  face.  He  did  not  think  she  had  seen 
him,  deceived  by  her  indifferent  air  and  gait, 
and  when  he  left  the  market  bearing  his  burden 
of  white  roses,  though  he  glanced  behind  him 
now  and  then,  he  saw  nothing  of  Lycabetta's 
woman,  and  believed  himself  in  security.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  a  contented  mind  that  he  pushed 
open  a  doorway  in  the  little  church  by  the  sea, 
and  passed  from  the  bright  sunlight  into  the 
cool  shade  of  the  pillared  place. 

With  a  contented  mind !  A  month  had  wrought 
great  changes  in  him.  On  the  night  when  the 
two  fugitives  sped  through  the  darkness  and  threw 
themselves  on  the  protection  of  Father  Hierony- 
mus,  Robert's  brain,  reeling  from  rebellion  and 
despair  to  surrender,  was  too  distraught  to  enter- 
tain much  else  than  the  wild  desire  to  save 
Perpetua.  But  in  the  mild  twilight  of  the  holy 
place,  under  the  calm  authority  of  Hieronymus, 
there  came  to  him  a  strength,  a  courage  of  a 
kind  that  he  had  never  known  before.  Hieronymus 
had  welcomed  the  suppliants.     The  church  com- 

205 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

municated  through  its  crypt  with  some  of  the 
many  catacombs  that  pierced  the  hills  of  Syracuse 
into  a  labyrinth;  in  one  of  these  it  was  easy  to 
conceal  Perpetua  with  safety  and  with  some 
degree  of  comfort.  As  for  the  fool,  the  church 
just  needed  a  sacristan;  a  friar's  robe  was  soon 
found  and  fitted;  a  brown  hood  concealed  the 
ugly,  haggard  face,  and  the  cripple  Diogenes,  who 
had  been  Robert  the  King,  became  the  willing, 
patient  servant  of  the  little  church  by  the  sea. 

Robert  stood  there  in  the  church  newly  im- 
portuned by  the  memories  of  a  month  that  had 
seemed  at  once  as  brief  as  a  noon-day  dream  and 
yet  to  stretch  into  an  age-long  quiet.  He  re- 
called the  gentle  gravity  with  which  Hieronymus 
had  listened  to  the  tale  of  flight,  and  had  forgiven 
him  in  the  name  of  Heaven  for  a  fraud  that  had 
saved  from  dishonor  the  body  of  a  Christian 
maid.  He  recalled  the  gentle  strength  with  which 
Hieronymus  had  silenced  him  when  he  told  for 
the  last  time  his  wild  tale  of  transformation,  and 
declared  that  he  was  Robert  of  Sicily.  The  rest 
of  his  memories  were  of  peaceful  hours  of  service, 
starred  by  golden  moments  of  sight  of  Perpetua, 

206 


THE    CHURCH    BY    THE    SEA 

of  speech  with  Perpetua.  A  strange  resignation 
came  to  reign  in  his  fevered  brain.  He  had  been 
King — surely  he  had  been  King — but  now  he  was 
no  longer  King ;  it  had  pleased  Heaven  to  cast  him 
from  his  kingship  and  to  lead  him  in  his  degrada- 
tion to  thoughts  and  deeds  undreamed  of  in  his 
hours  of  greatness.  There  were  times  when  he 
could  wellnigh  believe,  dreamily,  that  what  those 
nearest  to  him,  Perpetua  and  Plieronymus,  be- 
lieved was  indeed  the  truth,  and  that  he  was  in 
very  fact  the  fool  Diogenes,  who  had  lain  in  the 
maleficent  moonlight  on  the  mountain  summit, 
and  dreamed  in  his  madness  that  he  was  the 
lord  of  Sicily.  Moments  truly  came  of  fierce 
rebellion,  but  they  were  fewer  now,  and  even 
while  they  racked  him,  the  thought  of  Perpetua 
brought  with  it  resignation  to  his  fate.  She 
had  taught  him  the  meaning  of  service,  of  patience, 
of  love. 

Quietly  he  set  down  his  basket  of  roses ;  quietly 
he  took  from  a  corner  a  broom,  and,  opening  the 
door  that  gave  upon  the  sea,  he  reverently  swept 
the  little  church.  As  he  worked  at  his  humble 
toil,  he  mused  on  the  doings  of  him  who  was  now 

207 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

King  of  Sicily,  how  point  by  point,  in  his  tyrannies, 
he  followed  out  the  plans  that  had  been  hatched 
in  Robert's  head.  How  would  it  end  for  Per- 
petua — how  would  it  end  for  Sicily  ?  He  scarcely 
thought  to  ask  how  it  would  end  for  himself. 
Sometime,  when  it  could  be  safely  done,  Perpetua 
should  escape  to  Italy;  he  would  be  with  her  as 
her  servant,  his  hands  would  toil  for  her.  Al- 
ready he  had  learned  to  weave  baskets,  and 
it  was  with  the  money  that  he  got  through 
Hieronymus  for  these  that  he  had  bought  the 
roses  which  were  to  adorn  the  altar  of  the 
church. 

As  he  thought,  his  task  was  ended,  the  floor 
of  the  little  church  was  clean. 

"Swept,"  he  murmured  to  himself  as  he  laid 
his  broom  aside,  and  taking  up  the  basket  of 
white  roses  proceeded  to  set  them  tenderly  upon 
the  altar, 

"  Garnished,"  he  murmured  again,  as  he  stepped 
back  a  little  way  and  regarded  his  handiwork 
with  a  greater  pleasure  than  he  had  ever  known, 
in  days  now  dim  as  dreams,  in  the  pageants  and 
the  festals  of  Naples.     The  little  church  was  now 

208 


THE    CHURCH    BY    THE   SEA 

the  kingdom  in  which  he  lived,  not  as  king,  but 
as  its  lowHest  servitor;  yet  he  breathed  in  it  a 
spirit  of  content  such  as  he  had  never  known 
before.  Those  solemn  pillars,  those  gloomy 
spgices,  those  narrow  staircases  set  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  walls,  were  the  landmarks,  were  the 
confines  of  his  home.  The  colored  light  that 
poured  through  the  windows  of  painted  glass, 
mottling  the  stone  flooring  with  splendid  patches 
of  yellow  and  blue  and  red,  gave  the  gray  place 
to  his  sad  eyes  a  pomp  beyond  the  pride  of  courts. 
Here  and  there  in  the  darkness  dim  lamps  burned, 
the  beacons  for  him  of  inexpressible  havens. 
Portions  of  the  walls  were  covered  with  votive 
offerings — little  models  of  ships  that  had  been 
set  there  by  sailors,  grateful  for  succor  in  storm 
and  escape  from  shipwreck,  wreaths  and  pictures 
and  crosses  and  images  of  saints,  emblems  all 
of  a  simple  piety  that  his  racked  spirit  was  slowly 
learning  to  understand.  In  front  of  him  was  the 
altar  with  its  image  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Sea, 
curiously  and  beautifully  wrought  in  silver,  the 
figure  of  the  Divine  Woman  on  a  space  of  tum- 
bling sea.  At  the  left  of  the  altar,  in  a  niche  in 
14  209 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

the  wall  hard  by,  stood  the  most  precious  relic 
of  the  church,  a  huge  iron  cross  more  than  seven 
feet  in  height,  which  had  been  carried  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  by  the  founder  of  the 
church.  On  the  right  of  the  altar  was  the  golden 
railing  and  gateway  on  which  the  eyes  of  Robert 
always  rested  -in  joy,  for  behind  it  lay  the  space 
of  sanctuary,  the  spot  where  Perpetua  had  found 
a  shelter  from  her  enemies.  Yet  close  to  this 
railing  rose  a  pillar,  the  sight  of  which  always 
had  power  to  banish  any  joy  from  Robert's  eyes. 
Down  its  length  hung  a  thick  rope  running 
through  iron  rings  set  in  the  stone-work.  That 
rope  conducted  to  a  bell  on  the  roof  of  the  church. 
That  bell  had  been  set  there  in  the  spring  of  the 
reign  of  King  Robert  the  Good  for  this  purpose, 
that  if  any  man  in  his  kingdom  thought  he  was 
wongly  used  by  its  King,  he  had  but  to  drag  at 
the  rope  to  set  the  great  bell  ringing,  whose 
sound,  tolling  over  the  city,  called  all  good  citizens 
together  to  hear  and  decide  upon  the  complaint 
of  the  subject  against  the  King.  In  such  a 
benignant  spirit  had  Sicily  been  ruled  in  the  days 
of  Robert  the  Good, 

2IO 


THE    CHURCH    BY    THE    SEA 

One  white  rose  remained  in  his  fingers.  He 
lifted  it  to  his  Hps  and  kissed  it  reverently.  Then 
he  laid  it  down  before  the  gilded  gateway  of  the 
sanctuary,  with  the  thought  in  his  mind  that 
perhaps  her  foot  might  touch  it  as  she  passed 
and  make  it  sacred.  Then  he  lit  a  taper  at  a 
lamp,  and  in  obedience  to  the  order  given  him 
by  Father  Hieronymus  the  previous  night,  he 
carried  the  tiny  flame  to  each  of  the  candles  on 
the  altar,  till  all  were  lighted.  This  task  done, 
he  prostrated  himself  on  the  steps  before  the 
shrine  and  prayed  aloud. 

"Heaven,"  he  supplicated — "Heaven,  against 
whom  I  have  sinned  so  deeply,  hear  my  prayer 
for  the  white  child  who  has  led  Thy  light  into  my 
dark.  Shield  her  from  danger.  Keep  holy  her 
who  is  holy." 

As  his  voice  died  away  into  silence,  he  still 
knelt  with  bent  head  and  clasped  hands,  so 
steeped  in  penitential  thoughts  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  sea-door  open,  did  not  hear  the  entrance 
of  a  man,  grizzled,  bronzed,  eagle-faced,  ascetic, 
clad  in  the  brown  robe  of  his  order.  Father 
Hieronymus  paused  for  a  moment,  seeing  with 

211 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

gratification  the  kneeling  figure  before  the  altar. 
It  would  be  the  sweetest  triumph  of  a  life  of 
ceaseless  struggle  with  the  Prince  of  the  Power 
of  the  Air  to  save  alive  the  soul  of  the  distracted 
fool. 


XIV 
THE    EXILES 

HiERONYMUs  advanced  to  the  kneeling  figure, 
"My  son,"  he  said,  gently. 

Robert  leaped  to  his  feet  at  the  sound  of  the 
familiar  voice,  and  moved  to  meet  Hieronymus. 

"  Father,  when  we  came  to  you  a  month  ago 
and  begged  for  shelter,  I  told  you  how  I  lied  to 
save  the  girl,  pretending  to  be  plague-stricken." 

Hieronymus  inclined  his  head.  "And  I  ab- 
solved you." 

Robert  spoke  in  a  lower  voice,  almost  a  whisper. 
"  I  told  you,  too,  that  I  was  Sicily,  Robert  him- 
self, lapped  in  this  hideous  shape." 

Hieronymus  raised  a  warning  hand.  "  Does 
that  delusion  still  vex  you?"  he  asked,  sadly. 

Robert  bowed  his  head.  "  My  spirit  is  free 
from  many  delusions,"  he  whispered;  "but  I  did 
not  tell  you  that  I,   unlovely  as  I  am,   I  love 

213 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Perpetua.  Her  hand  has  led  me,  her  voice  has 
inspired  me.  If  ever  I  be  saved  she  will  have 
saved  me." 

The  grave  face  of  Hieronymus  looked  kindly 
pity  upon  the  fool  in  the  friar's  gown. 

"  God  chooses  the  time  and  the  way.  An 
earthly  love  may  win  the  grace  of  Heaven." 

Robert  sighed.  "My  hopeless  love  is  happy 
service.  Daily  my  spirit  creeps  a  little  nearer 
to  the  light." 

Hieronymus  beat  his  breast. 

"  Daily  the  tyrant  of  Sicily  grows  more  wicked, 
reeling  like  a  madman  from  crime  to  crime.  The 
island  groans  beneath  him  more  piteously  than 
the  imprisoned  Titan  groans  beneath  Mount 
Etna." 

Robert  turned  away  from  Hieronymus  with 
a  bitter  sigh.  "God  forgive  me,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "for  he  does  the  deeds  I  meant  to  do!" 

Hieronymus  did  not  heed  the  agitation  of  his 
companion;  he  stood  as  if  listening  to  some 
distant  sound.  "Son,  do  you  hear  .  .  .?"  he 
questioned. 

Robert  came  swiftly  to  his  side,  listened, 
214 


THE    EXILES 

heard,  and  answered:  "The  measured  tread  of 
many  feet.  They  seem  to  walk  mournfully  over 
my  heart." 

"  Look  out,  my  son,"  Hieronymus  commanded, 
"and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

Robert  opened  the  door  that  gave  upon  the  sea, 
looked  out,  and  answered,  sadly:  "A  company 
of  men  and  women,  all  in  black.  They  seem 
weighed  down  with  sorrow." 

"These,"  said  Hieronymus,  grimly,  "are  the 
noblest  folk  in  Sicily,  flying  into  exile  from  the 
tyrant's  lust  and  greed." 

Robert  stood  motionless,  frozen  with  sorrow. 

"  These,"  he  said,  in  his  heart,  "  are  the  just  and 
righteous  whom  I  meant  to  vex  and  banish." 

As  in  a  dream  he  heard  the  voice  of  Hierony- 
mus calling  to  him:  "My  son,  give  me  that  iron 
cross,  the  cross  of  the  founder  of  our  church. 
They  shall  salute  it  for  the  last  time." 

Robert,  going  to  the  wall  where  the  relic  stood, 
tried  vainly  to  lift  the  cross.  Its  weight  mocked 
his  efforts,  and  he  turned,  gasping  and  trembling, 
to  Hieronymus.  "  Father,  I  cannot.  The  sinews 
of  the  fool  are  too  feeble  to  lift  it." 

215 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Hieronymus  gave  a  cry  of  compassion. 

"  Forgive  me.  It  is  heavy,  and  taxes  my 
strength  to  move." 

In  his  turn  he  moved  to  the  cross,  lifted  it  with 
an  effort  from  its  place,  and  carried  it  with  dif- 
ficulty to  the  altar,  where  he  rested  it  for  the 
new-comers  to  see. 

The  ache  in  Robert's  heart  was  cruder  than 
the  ache  in  Robert's  arms. 

"I  was  once  so  proud  of  my  strength,"  he 
murmured. 

He  moved  towards  the  altar,  and  seated  him- 
self on  the  lowest  step,  huddled  in  grief,  while 
Hieronymus,  mounting  to  the  altar,  turned  to 
face  the  new-comers.  Through  the  sea-door  came 
a  company  of  men  and  women,  all  dressed  in 
black,  who  ranged  themselves,  kneeling,  in  front 
of  the  altar. 

Hieronymus  addressed  the  kneeling  mourn- 
ers. "  My  brethren,  are  ye  going  forth  into 
exile?" 

An  old  man  rose  and  spoke. 

"From  the  land  where  I  was  bom,  from  the 
soil  where  my  father's  fathers  sprang,  I  now  must 

216 


THE    EXILES 

go  a  wanderer,  houseless,  penniless.  Woe  to  the 
wicked  King!" 

He  knelt  again. 

Robert,  where  he  crouched,  muttered  to  him- 
self, "  I  have  sinned,  I  have  sinned,  I  have 
grievously  sinned." 

Next  a  young  woman  rose  and  spoke. 

"I  and  these  other  women  with  me,  we  must 
fly  from  the  land  of  our  life  and  of  our  love. 
For  the  honor  of  no  woman  is  safe  in  the  reign  of 
Robert  the  Bad,  and  the  feet  of  good  women  gc 
not  in  his  halls.     Woe  to  the  wicked  King!" 

She  knelt  again. 

Robert,  where  he  crouch^sd,  muttered  to  himself, 
"  I  have  sinned,  I  have  sinned,  I  have  grievously 
sinned." 

A  young  man  rose  and  spoke. 

"  No  youth  with  a  clean  spirit  can  live  in  peace 
in  Sicily.  Only  the  man  who  will  sell  his  wife, 
the  brother  who  will  betray  his  sister,  the  lover 
who  will  surrender  his  sweetheart,  may  find  favor 
with  the  tyrant.     Woe  to  the  wicked  King!" 

He  knelt  again, 

Robert,  where  he  crouched,  muttered  to  him- 
217 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

self,  "I  have  sinned,  I  have  sinned,  I  have  griev- 
ously sinned." 

Robert's  face  was  very  pale,  his  body  shook 
with  anguish,  and  he  crouched  more  and  more 
upon  the  steps  of  the  altar. 

A  soldier  rose  and  spoke. 

"  I  am  not  squeamish;  I  have  seen  cities  sacked, 
but  I  will  not  serve  this  man-beast.  I  will  carry 
my  sword  over-seas.  I  will  follow  the  flag  of  some 
gallant  captain,  and  die  remembering  Sicily.  Woe 
to  the  wicked  King!" 

He  knelt  again. 

Robert,  where  he  crouched,  muttered  to  him- 
self, "  I  have  sinned,  I  have  sinned,  I  have  griev- 
ously sinned." 

He  heard  Hieronymus  give  his  benediction— 
"  Benedico  vos  in  nomine  Patris,  et  Filii,  et 
Spiritus  Sancti."  A  thought  came  to  Robert, 
he  crept  to  Hieronymus,  plucking  at  his  sleeve : 

"Father,"  he  whispered,  "may  I,  who  am  so 
sore  afflicted,  speak  to  these  unhappy?" 

Hieronymus  rested  his  hand  gently  on  Robert's 
shoulder  as  he  again  addressed  the  kneeling 
figures. 

218 


THE   EXILES 

"Brethren,"  he  said,  "lo,  here  is  one  of  the 
tyrant's  victims.     Speak,  my  son." 

He  moved  aside  a  httle  to  give  Robert  more 
space,  resting  his  hand  upon  the  iron  cross. 
Robert,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hood,  addressed 
the  mourners. 

"Brethren,"  he  wailed,  "I  am  the  most  un- 
happy soul  in  Sicily,  for  God  has  cursed  me  with 
a  fearful  curse.  At  night  I  dream  I  am  this 
wicked  King,  and  all  day  long  the  evil  of  his 
deeds  grinds  down  my  heart.  But  in  my  misery 
I  have  heard  words  more  sweet  than  honey,  more 
fragrant  than  myrrh,  which  if  you  will  guard 
them  in  your  hearts  will  be  to  you  as  wells  in  the 
waste  places,  as  orchards  in  the  sand,  as  shade 
of  palm  and  strength  of  manna  in  the  weary, 
hungry  land.  '  He  hath  put  down  the  mighty 
from  their  seats  and  exalted  them  of  low  degree.' " 

He  would  have  fallen  if  Hieronymus's  strong 
arms  had  not  sustained  him.  With  one  voice 
all  the  wanderers  echoed  his  words. 

"  '  He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their 
seats  and  exalted  them  of  low  degree.'  " 

The  wanderers  rose  very  slowly  from  their 
219 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

knees  and  went  very  slowly  out  at  the  sea-door, 
followed  by  Hieronymous,  who  almost  carried 
Robert  in  his  arms  to  the  outer  air. 

For  some  minutes  the  little  church  was  empty 
and  dark  and  silent.  Then  a  side  door  opened 
and  a  woman  and  a  man  entered,  coming  from 
a  quiet  street.  The  woman  was  Lycabetta;  the 
man  was  Hildebrand.  Hildebrand  looked  curi- 
ously around  him. 

"Why  have  you  brought  me  here?"  he  asked. 

"Answer  me  first,"  Lycabetta  replied.  "How 
is  the  King?" 

Hildebrand  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Bloody 
of  purpose,  and  yet  bloodless.  Lustful  of  purpose, 
and  yet  loveless.  In  his  prisons  many  wait  for 
death,  but  none  perish;  for  the  King  has  sworn 
that  none  shall  die  before  the  fool  Diogenes,  and 
we  cannot  find  the  fool.  The  loveliest  women 
of  Sicily  have  been  torn  from  their  homes  to  his 
palace,  but  they  have  not  seen  the  King,  for  he 
will  love  no  woman  until  he  has  found  the  girl 
Perpetua.     And  the  girl  cannot  be  found." 

Lycabetta  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Listen ;  this  morning  in  the  flower-market  my 
220 


THE    EXILES 

Lysidice  noted  a  hooded  friar  who  bought  white 
roses.  A  wind  stirred  his  cowl  and  she  saw  the 
face  of  Diogenes." 

Hildebrand  started, 

"Was  she  sure?" 

" 'Tis  no  face  to  forget,"  Lycabetta  answered; 
"though  she  swears  it  less  frightful  than  of  old. 
She  made  no  sign,  but  she  bribed  a  child  to  follow 
the  false  friar,  and  the  brat  ran  him  to  earth 
here." 

Hildebrand  grinned  savagely. 

"  If  they  be  here,  no  fable  of  the  plague  shall 
save  them  this  time." 

Lycabetta  caught  him  eagerly  by  the  arm  and 
drew  him  behind  a  concealing  pillar.  She  had 
seen  the  sea-door  open  and  had  seen  a  figure  in  a 
friar's  gown. 

"Who  is  this?"  she  whispered  triumphantly  to 
Hildebrand. 

Robert  came  through  the  sea-door.  Inside  the 
church  he  threw  back  his  hood  and  his  face  was 
plainly  visible  to  the  watchers,  themselves  in- 
visible, screened  by  the  pillars  and  the  gloom. 
Hildebrand    pressed    Lycabetta's    hand    signifi- 

221 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

cantly.  He  had  seen  all  he  wanted  to  see.  The 
pair  slipped  quietly  out  by  the  door  through 
which  they  had  entered.  Robert  advanced  slowly 
to  the  altar  and  flung  himself  on  the  steps. 

"Dear  God,"  he  prayed,  "let  not  the  guiltless 
suffer  for  my  guilt.  Pimish  me  to  the  top  of  my 
sin,  but  pity  Sicily." 


x/ 


XV 
THE    HUNTER'S   VOICE 

Out  of  the  shadow-land  at  the  back  of  the  altar 
emerged  a  white  figure,  with  a  fair  face  and  hair 
the  color  of  flame.  She  moved  unheard  across 
the  pavement  of  the  place  of  sanctuary;  unheard 
she  pushed  open  the  little  golden  wicket  in  the 
golden  railing;  unheard  she  noted  the  white  rose 
where  it  lay  upon  the  ground,  and,  picking  it  up, 
lifted  it  to  her  lips  before  she  placed  it  in  her 
girdle;  unheard  she  moved  to  where  Robert  lay 
in  his  agony  before  the  altar. 

"Friend,"  she  whispered,  softly. 

Robert's  consciousness  awoke  from  its  dark 
dreams.  He  rose  and  faced  the  girl,  naming  her 
name  with  joy. 

"Perpetual" 

Perpetua  came  close  to  him. 
223 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

You  have  been  abroad.  Have  you  any  news 
of  my  father?" 

Robert  shook  his  head. 

"He  is  still  kept  close  in  the  palace;  his  sword 
is  still  idle.  The  King  has  doomed  many  to 
death,  but  it  seems  that  none  shall  die  until  the 
fool  dies — and  they  cannot  find  the  fool,"  he 
added,  with  a  grim  laugh. 

Perpetua  looked  at  him  with  sad  affection 
and  said,  earnestly,  "  I  wish  you  would  fly  from 
Sicily." 

Robert  answered  her  as  earnestly,  "  I  wish  you 
would  fly  from  Sicily." 

"I  will  not  leave  my  father." 

"I  will  not  leave  you  in  danger." 

Perpetua,  smiling,  gently  chided.  "All  men 
live  in  danger  through  each  second  of  each  minute. 
I  do  not  know  the  color  of  fear." 

Robert  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her  and  spoke 
with  a  warning  voice. 

"I  fear  for  you.  This  morning  I  saw  in  the 
market-place  one  of  the  women  of  Lycabetta. 
She  did  not  see  me,  but  to  see  her  renewed  my 
fear.     If  danger  should  come  here  ring  at  this 

224 


THE   HUNTER'S   VOICE 

bell,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  great  rope  on  the 
column  by  the  altar.  "It  was  set  here  by  King 
Robert  the  Good,  that  any  man  having  cause  of 
complaint  against  the  King  might  ring  it  and 
rouse  all  Syracuse  to  sit  in  judgment  between 
sovereign  and  subject.  In  all  his  reign  no  hand 
ever  tugged  at  that  cord." 

Perpetua  looked  at  it  sadly.  "Every  hand  in 
Syracuse  might  itch  to  clasp  it  in  the  reign  of 
Robert  the  Bad." 

There  were  tears  in  Robert's  eyes  as  he  echoed 
her. 

"Robert  the  Bad.  You  might  have  loved 
him,"  he  said,  after  a  short  silence. 

Perpetua  turned  away,  for  now  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.    "  Oh,  I  know  nothing  of  love,  "she  said. 

Robert  saw  her  sadness  and  combated  his  own 
to  cheer  her.  "Is  it  not  strange,"  he  asked, 
"your  loveliness  knows  nothing  of  love  while  my 
unloveliness  is  cunning  in  love-wisdom  ?  Year  in 
and  year  out  I  have  watched  the  world  a-wooing— 
shepherd  and  shepherdess  under  the  hawthorn 
hedge,  knight  and  dame  in  the  rose-bower,  king 
and  queen  on  the  marble  terrace." 
IS  225 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

She  turned  to  him  again  and  there  were  now 
no  tears  in  her  eyes ;  grief  should  not  conquer  her 
and  she  spoke  brightly,  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  his  speech. 

"A  prodigal  preface.  But  what  is  the  sum  of 
all  your  wisdom?" 

The  wild  fancy  which  had  come  into  Robert's 
brain  when  he  spoke  of  love-w4sdom  grew  with 
the  moment  into  a  wild  resolve.  The  lips  of  the 
fool  should  interpret  the  heart  of  the  King.  He 
motioned  to  her  to  sit  on  the  lowest  of  the  steps 
that  led  to  the  altar  place,  and  when  she  had  done 
so  he  seated  himself  thereon.  The  sunlight  fell 
between  them  and  lay,  a  pool  of  many  colors  at 
their  feet.  Neither  of  them  knew  that  the  little 
side  door,  which  led  from  the  quiet  street,  opened 
a  little,  allowing  a  woman  to  slip  into  the  church 
and  vanish  behind  the  shadow  of  a  pillar. 

Robert  spoke  in  a  slow  voice.  "Love  is  the 
soul  of  the  world.  I  am  no  better  than  a  mouth- 
ing fool,  but  I  believe  the  perfect  lover  to  be 
next  of  kin  to  the  angels." 

Perpetua  gave  a  little  sigh.  "What  is  the 
perfect  lover?"  she  asked,  softly.     She  felt  as  if 

226 


THE    HUNTER'S    VOICE 

she  were  back  in  her  mountain  hut,  sitting  by  her 
father's  side,  and  asking  him  questions  of  the 
youth  of  the  world,  Robert's  voice  came  back 
to  her  Hke  a  solemn  chant. 

"Such  a  one  as  the  many  dull  would  meanly 
scorn  and  the  few  wise  nobly  envy.  For  him  love 
comes  like  a  mighty  wind  of  fire  and  bums  his 
heart  clean.  He  may  have  been  stained  and 
spotted  in  the  slough  of  life,  but  when  the  woman 
comes  she  saves  him." 

There  was  a  nobleness  in  his  voice  which  she 
had  not  noted  before ;  it  charmed  and  lulled  her. 

"Can  human  love  do  so  much?"  she  asked, 
more  of  herself  than  of  him. 

Robert's  voice  rose  in  triumphant  assertion. 
"  The  heart's  woman  is  the  soul's  star.  She  lifts 
her  lover  from  the  common  whirl  of  things.  He 
is  thrilled  with  the  elemental  wonder,  fulfilled 
with  the  immortal  truth.  He  shelters  imperish- 
able passion  in  the  perishable  flesh.  To  a  gray 
world  such  love  brings  glory,  and  he  that  is  so 
graced  walks  in  the  wilderness  as  in  a  rose  gar- 
den— gentle  in  reverence,  loyal  in  honor,  simple 
in  faith.     His  eyes  have  glimpses  of  the  flight  of 

227 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

angels;  his  ears  hear  snatches  of  the  music  of  the 
spheres,  and  even  the  very  dust  he  treads  upon 
becomes  the  golden  dust  of  stars.  This  is  the  love 
that  is  mightier  than  death,  this  is  the  mystery 
of  mysteries,  the  rose  of  changeless  youth." 

Perpetua  put  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

"Is  there  such  love?"  she  breathed,  and  in- 
stantly Robert  answered  her  and  his  answer  came 
like  music  to  her  ears. 

"There  is  such  love.  It  is  no  dream,  but  a 
glorious  reality  transfiguring  the  world,  exalting 
men,  immortalizing  women.  If  I  could  woo  you 
with  a  hunter's  voice,  I  would  cry  to  you  through 
the  parted  leaves :  Perpetua,  I  love  you  with  this 
mighty  love,  have  loved  you  since  that  happy 
forest  day,  shall  love  you  so,  Perpetua,  till  I  die, 
and  bear  as  my  one  claim  to  opened  heaven  the 
changeless  cry,  I  love  Perpetua." 

While  Robert  was  speaking  his  face  seemed  to 
grow  comelier,  and  the  pale  face  of  Perpetua 
showed  the  influence  of  his  words.  Her  eyes 
shone  with  his  enthusiasm,  her  lips  quivered  with 
his  emotion,  her  cheek  flushed  with  his  inspiration ; 
she  was  entirely  under  the  spell  of  his  speech  and 

228 


THE    HUNTER'S   VOICE 

the  associations  it  evoked.  As  he  came  to  an 
end  she  rose  as  if  entranced,  and  moved  slowly 
towards  him.  He,  too,  rose,  as  if  himself  be- 
witched by  the  magic  of  his  tongue,  and  stood 
with  parted  arms  as  if  to  clasp  and  welcome  her. 
Each  had  forgotten  time  and  place,  both  were 
again  in  the  green  wood  with  their  hearts  on  fire. 

"Himter,  my  hunter,"  Perpetua  cried;  "your 
voice  comes  through  the  leaves  and  conquers  me!" 

Her  eyes  were  half  closed,  her  hands  stretched 
out;  she  swayed  towards  him. 

Robert  sprang  forward  with  a  mighty  cry. 
"Perpetua!" 

She  was  almost  in  his  arms;  suddenly  her 
opened  eyes  realized  that  she  was  confronted  by 
the  rugged  visage  of  the  fool.  She  drew  back 
with  a  start,  and  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes  as  if 
to  brush  away  the  dream  that  had  possessed  her. 

Robert,  who  had  advanced  like  a  conqueror, 
fell  back  like  a  slave. 

"Ah!"  Perpetua  moaned.  "What  have  you 
said  to  me?     I  have  dreamed  a  dream." 

With  a  heavy  sigh  Robert  answered  her,  striving 
to  smile. 

229 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  I  too  have  dreamed  a  dream.  As  the  golden 
words  glowed  from  my  brain  they  worked  a  spell 
upon  me,  and  for  a  moment  I,  the  hideous  cripple, 
fancied  myself  young  and  comely,  the  lover  of  my 
vision.     Forgive  me,  Perpetua." 

"  What  is  there  to  forgive?"  Perpetua  answered. 
"I  have  slept  waking,  have  dreamed  with  open 
eyes,  and  in  my  dream  I  seemed  to  hear  a  voice 
that  carries  all  the  music  of  the  world,  which 
called  me  by  my  name  and  made  me  come  to  it." 

"Perpetua!"  Robert  pleaded. 

But  she  went  on  speaking,  unheeding  him,  as 
if  she  were  indeed  still  under  the  influence  of  a 
dream. 

"I  was  again  in  the  green  wood;  the  fountain 
bubbled  at  my  feet.  Strong  hands  parted  "the 
curtain  of  green  leaves,  and  through  the  gap  came 
sunlight — sunlight  and  the  himter  with  eyes  like 
mountain  lakes ;  and  as  I  moved  to  meet  him  the 
vision  vanished.     Are  you  a  wizard?" 

Robert  could  now  command  himself. 

"  No,"  he  said;  "  only  a  fool  who  teases  his  soul 
with  Elysian  fancies.  But  the  strings  of  the  lute 
have  snapped;  they  were  made  of  heart-strings, 

230 


THE    HUNTER'S    VOICE 

and  a  thought  too  fine  for  the  work.  I  will  play 
that  air  no  more." 

She  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  sorrow  in  his 
voice;  she  longed  for  solitude.  "Leave  me  a 
little  while  to  myself,"  she  entreated.  "I  want 
to  be  alone  and  pray." 

Robert  looked  at  her  wistfully ;  for  a  few  golden 
moments  he  had  known  youth  again,  and  hope, 
and  the  speech  of  passionate  love,  had  seen  the 
woman  he  worshipped  come  to  him  under  the 
spell  of  his  words.  Now  he  was  again  God's 
outcast. 

"  The  will  of  Heaven  be  done,"  he  murmured  to 
himself;  then  to  Perpetua  he  said,  quietly,  "  When 
you  pray,  pray  for  your  poor  servant,  for  I  think 
your  pure  voice  must  soar  at  once  into  the  courts 
of  Heaven." 

Perpetua  smiled  kindly  at  him,  "Dear  Di- 
ogenes," she  said;  and  with  that  name  ringing  in 
his  ears  Robert  went  slowly  out  through  the  sea- 
door.  Perpetua  turned  and  knelt  at  the  altar, 
praying, 

"  Dear  Mother  of  Mercy,  help  me  to  forget  the 
hunter's  face!" 


XVI 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  BELL 

Out  of  the  darkest  shadows  a  woman  crept  tow- 
ards the  altar.  She  bent  over  Perpetua  where 
she  knelt,  and  said,  mockingly : 

"You  would  do  better  to  pray  to  forget  the 
fool's  face,  for  the  fool  has  led  you  into  folly." 

Perpetua  sprang  to  her  feet  and  saw  Lycabetta. 
Making  the  sign  of  the  cross  she  confronted  her. 
"Why  are  you  here?     This  place  is  holy." 

Lycabetta  laughed.  "  I  loved  you  so  well  that 
I  could  not  part  from  you.  You  have  no  plague 
mark  on  your  beauty  That  was  a  rare  trick, 
and  your  fool  hid  you  cimningly — but  we  have 
found  you,  bird,  at  last." 

"  I  am  in  sanctuary,"  Perpetua  said,  steadily. 

Lycabetta  sneered,  "Our  king-hawk  w^ll  not 
be  scared  by  a  sacred  name." 

"Sicily  still  stands  in  Christendom,"  Perpetua 
232 


THE    CALL    OP   THE    BELL 

answered;  "and  this  ground  is  as  holy  as  the  old 
Jerusalem  or  the  new." 

Lycabetta  looked  at  her  with  languid  wonder. 

"Why  are  you  so  perverse?  It  is  a  smiling 
fortune  to  be  the  darling  of  a  king." 

"It  is  a  fairer  fortune  to  be  the  darling  of  the 
Lord,"  Perpetua  answered,  proudly.  "Why  do 
you  plague  me  so  vainly?  There  is  no  fear  nor 
favor  in  the  world  that  can  move  me." 

Lycabetta  watched  her  with  half -closed  lids. 
"Are  you  so  sure?"  she  said,  cruelly.  Then  she 
went  to  the  side  door  and  opened  it,  calling  out, 
"My  lord!"  and  instant  to  her  summons  Hilde- 
brand  entered  the  church. 

"  Your  chaste  angel  will  play  no  game  with  us." 

Hildebrand  gave  Perpetua  a  courtly  salutation. 
"  I  am  glad  to  find  you,  lady." 

Perpetua  had  drawn  close  to  King  Robert's 
pillar  and  caught  the  rope  in  her  hands. 

"  If  you  come  near  me,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  ring 
this  bell  and  Syracuse  will  guard  me." 

"You  mistake  me,"  Hildebrand  said,  calmly. 
"  I  am  your  friend,  and  by  your  leave  I  would  save 
you  from  the  King.    Do  not  believe  that  sanctuary 

233 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

will  serve  you.  His  lust  of  hate  would  pluck  you 
from  between  the  horns  of  the  altar." 

"This  shrine  is  sacred,  even  to  him,"  Perpetua 
asserted,  wearing  a  greater  confidence  than  she 
felt. 

Lycabetta  laughed  stealthily.  Hildebrand 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  talk  briskly,  but  you  cannot  make  and 
mend  the  world  at  your  maid's  pleasure.  I  alone 
can  save  you  from  the  King." 

"How  can  you  save  me?"  Perpetua  asked  him. 
She  was  undaiinted,  but  she  thought  to  gain  time. 

"Very  simply,"  Hildebrand  answered;  "I  de- 
sire your  favors  more  than  the  King's  favor,  and 
if  you  will  give  me  yourself  I  will  take  care  of  what 
is  mine  own." 

"You  are  a  faithful  servant,"  Perpetua  said, 
in  scorn. 

Hildebrand  waved  her  scorn  away  dispassion- 
ately with  his  delicate  white  hands. 

"  I  wear  no  fetters.  If  the  King  irks  me  I  will 
drive  my  dagger  between  his  ribs,  and  make  my- 
self king  in  Sicily.  I  think  a  change  in  the 
dynasty  would  not  be  unpopular  in  the  island. 

234 


THE    CALL    OF   THE    BELL 

Why,  I  will  do  this  to-night  to  please  you,  and 
make  you  my  queen  if  you  will." 

"You  are  baser  than  your  master."  Perpetua 
flung  the  words  at  him. 

Hildebrand  heard  them  unmoved.  "  I  am  what 
lam.     Will  you  come  to  me?" 

Perpetua  answered  him,  steadfast  in  scorn, 
"You  are  as  foolish  as  you  are  cruel,  and  you 
weary  me." 

Hildebrand  turned  to  Lycabetta.  "  Daughter 
of  Venus,"  he  said,  "a  few  paces  hence  you  will 
find  the  northern  soldier  whose  kisses  you  relish. 
Bring  him  here  with  his  company." 

Lycabetta  went  a  little  way  nearer  to  Perpetua 
and  stared  at  her.  "You  must  be  a  witch,"  she 
said,  "  for  you  make  men  mad  for  you.  I  cannot 
see  your  marvel."  Then  she  went  out  of  the 
church. 

"  I  will  appeal  to  Syracuse,"  Perpetua  cried  to 
Hildebrand,  She  seized  the  rope  of  the  great 
bell  and  tugged  at  it.  The  deep  note  of  the  bell 
was  heard  booming  out  over  the  city,  to  be 
answered  almost  immediately  by  the  hum  of 
voices  and  the  hurry  of  feet. 

235 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Now  you  are  doomed  indeed,"  Hildebrand 
commented,  ironically. 

Perpetua  still  tugged  at  the  bell. 

"Syracuse  will  defend  me,"  she  asserted,  brave 
against  danger. 

"Syracuse  will  do  nothing,"  Hildebrand  said, 
confidently. 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  sea-door  was  flung  open 
and  a  mob  of  people  flooded  the  church,  bearing 
Hieronymus  m  their  midst.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment through  the  side  door  Sigurd  entered  with 
his  soldiers,  followed  by  Lycabetta. 

"Who  rings  the  bell?"  Hieronymus  asked, 
sternly,  gazing  in  amazement  at  Perpetua  and 
the  strange  display  of  armed  force. 

"I  do,  father,"  Perpetua  answered.  Then 
eagerly  she  appealed  to  the  murmuring  crowd: 
"  People  of  Syracuse,  protect  me.  That  bell 
appeals  to  you  with  the  voice  of  the  dead  good 
King,  to  defend  me  against  the  living  evil 
King." 

Men  and  women,  the  crowd  clustered  together, 
murmurous,  menacing  sound — the  men  had  weap- 
ons in  their  hands  and  looked  as  if  they  were 

236 


THE    CALL    OF   THE    BELL 

ready  to  use  them  in  defence  of  their  ancient 
rights. 

Unmoved  by  their  attitude,  Hildebrand  said  to 
Sigurd:  "Make  that  woman  your  prisoner.  She 
is  the  King's  enemy." 

Sigurd  and  his  soldiers  advanced  towards  Per- 
petua.  As  they  did  so  the  uneasy  crowd  about 
the  door  parted,  and  Robert  rushed  in  through  the 
human  lane,  wild-eyed;  he  looked  from  Perpetua 
to  Hildebrand,  from  the  soldiers  to  the  people. 

"Perpetua!  Perpetua!"  he  cried.  "You  dare 
not  touch  her.     She  is  in  sanctuary." 

Instantly  the  people  about  the  door  took  up  the 
cry  and  thundered  it :  "Sanctuary!  Sanctuary!" 

Hildebrand  greeted  Robert  with  an  evil  smile. 
"Fool,  fool,  I  thought  we  should  lure  you." 

"Sanctuary!"  Robert  cried  again.  He  tried 
to  reach  Perpetua,  but  the  soldiers  were  between 
him  and  her,  a  wall  of  weapons. 

"Sanctuary!  Sanctuary!"  the  people  raved, 
swaying  at  Robert's  heels. 

Hildebrand  lifted  his  hand;  there  was  a  lull, 
and  he  spoke.  "Silence,  slaves!  There  is  no 
sanctuary  against  sorcery." 

237 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

Perpetua,  clinging  to  the  pillar,  echoed  his  word 
in  horror.     "Sorcery!" 

"Ay,"  repeated  Hildebrand.  "Sorcery.  The 
King  swears  you  have  cast  spells  upon  him,  de- 
livering him  madness  in  a  draught  of  well-water, 
that  you  are  a  damnable  sorceress." 

Through  the  confused  clamor  that  followed 
this  charge,  Perpetua's  voice  rang  out. 

"This  is  the  wickedest  story  ever  told." 

"People  of  Syracuse,"  Robert  called,  "do  not 
believe  this  man.  She  is  the  victim  of  a  wicked 
King.  As  you  have  wives,  daughters,  sweet- 
hearts, stand  by  me  and  save  her." 

He  appealed  eagerly  to  the  crowd,  rushing  to 
man  after  man  among  them,  but  each  shook  his 
head  and  hung  back,  daunted  by  the  terrible 
charge  of  witchcraft. 

"Sorcery's  a  vile  thing,"  said  one. 

"I'll  not  meddle  with  sorcery,"  said  another. 

Perpetua's  hopes  drooped  as  she  saw  how 
popular  feeling  fell  from  her. 

"  I  am  no  sorceress,  men  of  Syracuse,"  she  said, 
sadly, 

Robert  pointed  to  the  pale,  beautiful  girl  stand- 
238 


THE    CALL    OF   THE    BELL 

ing  by  the  pillar  and  surrounded  by  the  armed 
men. 

"Can  you  look  upon  her  and  believe  one  evil 
thought?     Save  her,  in  God's  name!" 

Again  the  crowd  swayed  a  little  towards  the 
soldiers,  urged  by  Robert,  urged  by  Hieronymus. 
Again  it  fell  back  when  Hildebrand  raised  his 
hand. 

"  Friends,  this  fellow  is  a  madman.  If  you 
ask  him  he  will  tell  you  that  he  is  the  King." 

The  crowd  that  was  wellnigh  stirred  to  mutiny 
by  Robert's  appeals  drew  back  from  him  sus- 
piciously. 

Hildebrand  saw  his  advantage  and  pressed  it. 
"Is  it  not  so,  fellow?     Are  you  not  the  King?" 

Robert's  hands  raised  in  appeal,  raised  in 
menace,  dropped  inertly  to  his  side,  and  his  head 
drooped  on  his  breast. 

"  I  was  the  King,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
but  a  whisper. 

Hildebrand  caught  at  the  admission  exultantly. 

"You  hear  him?     Secure  him!" 

All  his  supporters,  save  Hieronymus,  ebbed 
away  from  Robert.    Two  of  Sigurd's  soldiers  seized 

239 


I'HE   PROUD    PRINCE 

him.     Whatever  chance  there  might  have  been 
of  rescuing  Perpetua  was  lost. 

Hildebrand  went  on,  triumphantly : 

"  Against  witchcraft  no  sanctuary  prevails.  Let 
no  man  hinder  the  King's  justice  on  pain  of 
death." 

Lycabetta,  who  had  crept  near  to  Perpetua, 
whispered  in  her  ear: 

"  My  lord  Flame  is  a  fierce  lover.  He  clings 
close  and  he  kisses  quick  and  he  will  not  spare 
your  modesty.  You  will  bum  like  a  bright 
torch." 

Then  Lycabetta  went  out  of  the  church  as  s? 
had  come  in,  with  a  smile  on  her   face. 

Perpetua  called  to  Hieronymus.     "Is  there  i 
help?" 

"There   is   no   help,"    Hieronymus   answered 
despairingly. 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  death  holding  my  head 
high,"  the  girl  said,  valiantly. 

"Take  her  away,"  Hildebrand  ordered;  and  a 
his  order  Perpetua  was  borne  away  in  the  mids 
of  a  guard  of  soldiers  and  followed  by  Hieronymus. 
"Clear  the  church." 

240 


THE    CALL    OF    THE    BELL 

The  remaining  soldiers  drove  the  crowd  into 
the  streets. 

"  FHng  the  fool  on  the  altar  steps.  I  think  he 
will  have  a  praying  fit  on  him." 

His  captors  cast  Robert  roughly  on  the  altar 
steps,  where  he  lay  like  one  dying. 

"Now  leave  me." 

The  two  soldiers  went  out,  the  sea-door  closed, 
and  Hildebrand  and  Robert  were  left  alone. 

Hildebrand  went  slowly  over  to  where  Robert 
lay  and  talked  mockingly  to  him. 

"How  mulish  a  woman  may  be!  Here  is  a 
great  country  girl,  who  has  never  lain  soft  nor 
known  cheer,  never  worn  silk  and  never  sported 
a  jewel,  and  yet  when  great  men  scuffle  for  her, 
she  will  rather  die  than  serve  them  and  herself. 
Yes,  friend  Diogenes,  your  sweetheart  will  be 
burned  as  a  witch." 

Robert  lifted  his  head .  ' '  Pray  Heaven  you  lie ! " 
he  moaned. 

"I  am  more  truthful  than  an  oracle,"  Hilde- 
brand retorted.  "When  the  wood- wench  flouted 
him,  our  good  King  vowed  that  she  should  bum 
for  her  virtue." 

16  241 


THE    PROUD   PRINCE 

Robert  shuddered  at  the  memory  of  his  own 
words,  of  his  own  purpose. 

"Oh,  God,  have  mercy  on  my  wicked  soul!"  he 
prayed. 

Hildebrand  mocked  him  with  a  false  com- 
passion, "Yet  all  is  not  lost,  friend  Diogenes. 
If  your  wit  saved  her  before,  your  valor  may 
save  her  now." 

Robert  turned  to  him  again. 

"  If  your  heart  holds  any  pity,  speak,"  he  en- 
treated, hoping  against  hope  for  some  leaven  of 
charity  in  the  heart  of  Hildebrand. 

"She  can  appeal  to  the  ordeal  of  battle," 
Hildebrand  said,  calmly,  "And  if  she  finds 
a  champion  valiant  enough  to  overthrow  the 
King's  man,  who  shall  accuse  her,  then  she  is 
free." 

Robert  hid  his  face.  "Heaven  have  pity!"  he 
murmured. 

Hildebrand  went  on  unmoved. 

"The  King  has  picked  m.e  for  his  champion, 
and,  as  you  know,  I  am  skilled  in  arms.  But  you 
are  a  stalwart  fellow.  Prove  yourself  the  better 
man  and  save  your  paramour." 

242 


THE    CALL    OF   THE    BELL 

A  crazy  thought  came  into  Robert's  brain.  He 
had  a  dagger  at  his  belt;  if  he  could  but  take 
Hildebrand  unawares  and  slay  him,  one  danger 
would  be  out  of  Perpetua's  path.  His  hand  felt 
for  the  handle,  held  it  fast.  He  poised  his  crippled 
body  for  a  spring,  turned  swiftly  on  the  altar 
stairs,  and  leaped  with  lifted  blade  at  Hildebrand. 
But  Hildebrand  had  watched  his  gesture,  divined 
his  thoughts ;  he  caught  him  as  he  sprang,  by  the 
throat  and  wrist,  and  while  with  the  one  hand 
he  squeezed  so  hard  that  he  wellnigh  forced  the 
breath  from  Robert's  body,  with  the  other  he 
twisted  Robert's  wrist  so  that  the  knife  fell  clatter- 
ing on  the  flags  of  the  church.  Then  he  tossed 
Robert,  limp  and  gasping,  to  the  ground. 

"Keep  your  fury  for  the  day  of  fight,"  Hilde- 
brand sneered.  "See  now  how  easily  you  could 
overcome  me.  Yet  you  are  a  trouble  to  me  now, 
and  I  think  I  will  kill  you.  Master  Fool!" 

Robert  did  not  heed,  did  not  hear  his  threat. 
While  Hildebrand  put  his  hand  to  the  hilt  of 
his  sword  and  loosened  it  in  its  sheath,  Robert 
crawled  to  the  steps  of  the  altar,  cowering,  with 
clasped  hands. 

243 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"God  give  me  back  my  strength,"  he  prayed. 
"There  is  no  punishment  too  heavy  for  my  sin, 
but  for  this  woman's  sake  breathe  back  my  man- 
hood into  this  withered  body  that  I  may  fight  for 
her.     Then  cast  me  unprotesting  into  hell.     Ah!" 

Even  as  he  prayed  he  seemed  to  feel  the  breath 
of  a  great  spirit  fill  his  body  with  new  life,  his 
sinews  with  new  strength,  his  pulses  with  new 
fire.  A  voice  seemed  to  be  calling  in  his  ear, 
telling  him  what  to  do,  and  he  obeyed  it  as  a  child 
obeys  its  sire.     He  rose  and  faced  Hildebrand. 

"  You  shall  not  do  this  tiling,"  Robert  said,  and 
the  sound  of  his  voice  thrilled  him  with  im- 
speakable  hope. 

Hildebrand  laughed  mockingly. 

"Shall  I  not,  rascal?  Is  it  still  the  King  who 
commands  me?"  he  asked,  and  his  fingers  closed 
tighter  upon  his  sword-hilt. 

The  voice  seemed  ever  to  speak  in  Robert's  ear, 
and  ever  Robert  obeyed  its  prompting. 

"No,"  he  cried.  "It  is  not  the  King  who 
commands  you,  but  the  humblest,  the  meanest, 
the  unworthiest  of  mortal  men.  There  is  no 
creature  living  in  the  world  lowlier  than  I,  3^et 

244 


THE    CALL    OF   THE    BELL 

I  command  you  in  the  name  of  that  symbol 
which  casts  down  the  mighty,  and  before  which 
the  King  and  the  beggar  are  ahke  but  a  Httle 
quickened  dust." 

Spurred  by  inspiration  he  rushed  to  the  altar 
and  clasped  his  hands  around  the  iron  cross. 
Scarcely  to  his  surprise  he  found  that  he  could 
lift  the  massive  symbol  like  a  reed.  Poising  the 
cross  on  high  he  turned  upon  Hildebrand. 

"Will  you  set  your  cross  against  my  sword?" 
Hildebrand  cried.     "  You  shall  carry  it  to  hell." 

Robert  answered  with  the  voice  of  a  strong  man. 

"The  cross  against  the  sword,  in  the  name  of 
God!" 

He  advanced  against  Hildebrand  with  the  iron 
cross  raised.  Hildebrand  drew  his  great  sword 
and  made  to  strike,  but  before  he  could  deal  a 
stroke  Robert,  swinging  the  cross,  with  one  blow 
beat  him  to  the  ground,  and  stood  over  him  with 
the  cross  raised. 

"The  cross  against  the  sword,"  Robert  thun- 
dered. 

Hildebrand,  grovelling  on  the  ground  like  a 
crushed  snake,  rolled  on  one  side,  felt  at  the  cold 

245 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

stones  with  his  hands  futilely  for  a  moment,  and 
then  with  infinite  difficulty  propped  himself  up  a 
little  and  looked  up  at  Robert. 

"You  have  killed  me,"  he  gasped.  Fear  and 
wonder  questioned  in  his  dying  eyes,  forced  a 
question  from  his  dying  lips.  "Who  are  you?" 
Even  as  he  asked,  an  awful  look  came  over  his 
face,  he  saw  and  knew.  "The  King!"  he  cried, 
horribly.  His  hands  slipped  on  the  stones,  his 
head  struck  the  floor,  he  was  dead. 

Robert  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  the  dead 
man,  and  spoke  softly. 

"  He  hath  uplifted  the  humble." 


XVII 
IN    THE    ARENA 

The  great  amphitheatre  which  Roman  craft  had 
planned,  which  Roman  hands  had  fashioned,- 
Hved  almost  in  its  integrity  in  the  days  of  King 
Robert  the  Good.  He  had  girdled  it  with  gardens ; 
he  had  sought  to  obliterate  the  memories  of  its 
old-time  brutalities,  its  old-time  bloodshed,  by  the 
institution  of  kindly  sports  and  gentle  pastimes. 
A  populace  had  laughed  innocently,  had  contested 
healthily  in  the  place  where  man  had  fought  with 
man,  where  man  had  fought  with  beast,  where 
the  soil  had  sucked  thirstily  the  red  wine  of  life. 
But  a  good  king  does  not  last  forever,  and  a  good 
king's  ways  are  not  always  inherited,  and  Syra- 
cuse had  been  fluttered  by  the  rumor  that  King 
Robert  the  Bad  intended  to  surpass  the  pagans 
and  to  make  the  ancient  amphitheatre  again  the 
scene  of  evil  deeds.     And  by  way  of  consecration 

247 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

to  its  new-old  use,  a  maiden  was  to  be  burned  by- 
fire  in  its  arena  on  a  charge  of  sorcery  against  the 
King — burned  by  fire,  unless  her  appeal  to  the 
ordeal  of  battle  could  find  for  her  between  sky 
and  earth  any  champion  doughty  enough  to  over- 
throw the  King's  man,  the  challenger,  who  stood 
for  the  King  and  accused  the  girl  of  witchcraft. 
And  this  did  not  seem  likely,  for  the  King  was 
known  to  have  chosen  for  his  champion  the 
strongest,  the  most  skilful  swordsman  in  all  Sicily, 
his  dearest  friend,  his  favorite  companion,  the 
Lord  Hildebrand. 

Of  the  girl  herself,  whose  life  stood  in  such 
jeopardy,  Syracuse  knew  little.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Theron  the  executioner;  she  had 
lived  on  the  top  of  a  mountain;  she  had  been 
snared  in  a  church.  Certain  citizens  of  Syracuse 
had  seen  her  in  the  church,  a  beautiful  white 
child,  with  flame -colored  hair,  who  tugged  at 
King  Robert's  bell  and  appealed  for  pity.  There 
was  a  queer  fool,  too,  mixed  up  with  the  business, 
but  he  seemed  to  have  disappeared,  and  really 
lobody  cared  very  much  what  had  happened  to 
him.     What   everybody    cared   for   very   much, 

248 


IN    THE    ARENA 

indeed,  was  the  news  that  there  was  to  be  this 
great  show  in  the  ancient  amphitheatre :  two  men 
fighting  for  a  woman's  Hfe,  a  young  man  and  an 
old  man — for  everybody  knew,  too,  that  the  only 
champion  Perpetua  could  find  was  her  own  father, 
the  executioner  Theron — and  at  the  end  of  the 
battle  a  fair  maid  on  a  stack  of  faggots,  and  then  a 
big  blaze.  Such  a  thing  had  not  been  seen,  had 
not  been  heard  of  in  Syracuse  for  many  a  long 
day,  and  those  who  heard  of  it  now  were  resolved, 
to  a  man  and  to  a  woman,  to  see  it.  Not  that  the 
citizens  of  Syracuse  were  particularly  cruel;  but 
in  the  first  place  it  was  a  spectacle  too  novel  to 
miss,  and  in  the  second  place  all  Syracuse  had  been 
formally  summoned,  under  pain  of  death,  to  be 
present  at  the  event,  and  to  witness  the  King's 
vengeance  on  his  enemy. 

The  day  after  Perpetua' s  capture  was  lovely, 
even  for  Syracuse,  even  for  Sicily.  The  great 
amphitheatre  lay  in  the  soft  morning  light,  a 
wonder  of  white  curves,  beneath  great  awnings  of 
silk,  crimson  and  gold.  All  around  the  orchards 
and  gardens,  that  the  good  King  had  planted, 
showed  cool  and  green ;  the  subtle  odors  of  many 

249 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

flowers  charged  the  air  with  sweetness,  and  the 
ceaseless  lapse  of  fountains  lulled  the  ear  with 
distant  whispers  of  delight.  It  were  hard  to 
believe  that  so  fair  a  place,  upon  so  fair  a  day, 
could  be  destined  for  a  scene  of  trial  by  blood- 
shed and  punishment  by  fire.  But  in  the  great 
space  of  the  arena  one  object  stood  ominous,  to 
remind  the  spectator  that  the  reign  of  Robert  the 
Good  was  ended.  This  was  a  small  wooden  plat- 
form with  two  steps  and  an  upright  beam,  the 
whole  painted  a  glaring  scarlet.  Round  this  plat- 
form were  banked  great  piles  of  faggots,  sinister 
witnesses  to  the  work  that  was  to  be  done  ere 
noon. 

The  great  arena  was  almost  empty.  By  order 
of  the  King,  no  citizens  of  Syracuse  were  to  be 
permitted  to  enter  the  royal  gardens,  through 
which  alone  access  to  the  amphitheatre  was 
possible,  until  the  sounding  of  a  trumpet  told  the 
city  that  the  hour  had  come.  The  great  arena 
was  almost  empty,  but  not  quite.  On  one  of 
the  lowest  tiers  of  seats  an  old  man  sat  in  an 
attitude  of  grief.  This  man  was  Theron  the 
executioner. 

250 


IN    THE    ARENA 

It  had  been  his  duty,  as  instrument  of  the  King's 
justice,  to  make  all  the  preparations  for  the  deed 
that  was  to  be  done  that  day,  and  now  all  was 
completed  and  he  sat  alone  and  thought  bitter 
thoughts.  The  child  of  his  life  was  in  peril,  the 
beautiful  Perpetua,  so  dear  to  him  for  herself, 
so  dear  in  reincarnating  for  him  the  great  love 
and  the  great  sorrow  of  his  manhood.  Only  one 
moon  ago  their  life  had  been  as  it  had  ever  been, 
tranquil,  happy,  a  companionship  of  peace  and 
joy.  And  now  this  beloved  child,  this  dear  com- 
panion, lay  a  prisoner  under  the  terrible  charge 
of  sorcery,  and  in  the  ordeal  of  battle  which  was  to 
decide  her  fate  the  only  arm  that  could  be  found 
to  champion  her  was  her  father's  arm,  the  arm  of 
an  old  man  against  the  arm  of  the  most  brilliant 
swordsman  in  Sicily.  Theron  remembered  with 
a  pang  the  ease  and  grace  with  which  Hildebrand 
had  wielded  the  great  sword  of  the  headsman  on 
that  unhappy  morning,  and  he  asked  himself, 
despairingly,  what  hope  there  could  be  for  him 
against  such  an  adversary. 

Out  from  an  archway  in  the  side  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, a  dark  archway  that  opened  from  the 

251 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

corridor  leading  to  the  cells  where  prisoners  used 
to  be  confined,  and  where  Perpetua  was  now  con- 
fined, Hieronymus  came  forth.  He  saw  Theron 
where  he  sat,  and  advancing  towards  him  rested 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  named  his  name. 

Theron  looked  wearily  up  and  bowled  for  the 
benediction  of  the  religious. 

"My  son,"  Hieronymus  said,  gravely,  "by 
trampet-call,  within  the  hour,  the  chafing  populace 
will  be  admitted  into  these  royal  gardens  to 
witness  the  ordeal  by  battle.  My  son,  my  son, 
when  your  child's  voice  cries  for  a  champion  to- 
day, I  fear  yours  w411  be  the  only  hand  raised  to 
defend  her." 

"They  fear  her  for  a  witch,"  Theron  answered, 
bitterly;  "as  if  such  golden  goodness  could  go  to 
the  making  of  witch-flesh.  Men  are  fools — men 
are  devils." 

"Be  brave,  be  patient,"  Hieronymus  exhorted. 
"Courage  and  patience  are  the  harness  of  a 
soldier  of  God." 

Theron  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "You 
have  every  man  and  w^oman  in  Syracuse  for  son 
and  daughter.    She  is  my  only  child.    How  is  she  ?' ' 

252 


IN    THE    ARENA 

"Smiling  like  a  bride,"  Hieronymus  replied. 
"  Never  since  the  heathen  built  these  walls  did 
any  martyr  face  her  fate  more  radiantly." 

"She  is  not  harshly  treated?"  Theron  asked, 
anxiously. 

Hieronymus  shook  his  head. 

"Will  they  not  let  me  see  her?"  Theron  ques- 
tioned anew. 

"  I  think  they  will  let  you  see  her  by-and-by," 
Hieronymus  answered.  "I  have  entreated  for 
you.     I  shall  know  soon." 

Theron  gripped  his  hands  tightly  together.  "  I 
wish  I  had  the  King  here  at  my  mercy , "  he  muttered . 

Hieronymus  raised  a  reproving  hand.  "We 
must  forgive  our  enemies,  though,  indeed,  such  a 
King  is  God's  enemy.  His  prisons  are  filled  with 
the  flower  of  Sicilian  chivalry — the  list  of  those 
he  dooms  to  die  is  long." 

"Though  none  have  died  yet,"  Theron  inter- 
rupted. 

Hieronymus  nodded.  "They  say  he  swore  a 
great  oath  his  court -fool  should  be  the  first 
victim  of  your  sword,  and  till  the  fool  is  found  the 
victims  wait  on  death." 

253 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  Please  Heaven  he  be  not  found,  then,"  Theron 
prayed. 

Hieronymus  smiled  sadly.  "  He  will  be  found 
when  his  time  comes,"  he  said.  "Yet  Heaven 
seems  to  counter  the  wicked  King.  Those  whom 
he  drove  into  exile  still  linger  in  the  port.  Contrary 
winds  deny  their  sails." 

Theron  lifted  his  head  from  his  hands.  "They 
,  say  the  fairest  maids  of  Sicily  have  been  carried 
to  his  palace." 

"Yet  they  are  maids  still,"  Hieronymus  said, 
"  for  he  swears  to  love  no  woman  till  your  daughter 
dies." 

"He  is  so  sure  of  that,"  Theron  sighed. 

Hieronymus  sought  to  console  him. 

"Your  cause  is  just,  your  sword  is  sharp;  fight 
in  God's  name.  I  will  go  to  your  daughter 
now." 

Theron  thanked  him  with  a  grateful  glance. 

"  Tell  her  her  father  loves  her.  She  knows  that 
well,  yet  tell  it  to  her." 

Hieronymus  left  him  and  passed  out  of  the 
arena  through  the  archway  which  led  to  the  cells. 
Theron  remained  sitting  on  the  step  with  his 

254 


IN   THE   ARENA 

elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  chin  propped  on  his 
hands. 

"  This  is  the  time  when  a  man  should  pray,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "but  my  thoughts  tangle  and 
my  words  jangle." 

Through  the  gardens  came  a  singular  figure, 
tall  and  lean  and  withered,  with  a  wry  shoulder 
like  a  gibbous  moon  and  a  wry  leg  like  a  stricken 
tree,  and  his  face  had  a  long,  peaked  nose  and 
loose,  protruding  lips,  and  ears  like  the  wings 
of  bats.  His  mottled  livery  was  grass  -  stained 
and  earth-stained,  and  he  had  dizened  it  with 
a  kind  of  woodland  finery.  He  had  wild  flowers 
twisted  in  his  hair;  a  chaplet  of  scarlet  wood- 
berries  was  about  his  neck ;  he  carried  an  ash 
sapling  for  a  staff,  and  he  munched  at  an  apple. 
He  looked  about  him  curiously,  as  if  a  little 
dazed.  Then  he  saw  Theron  and  went  towards 
him. 

"Good-morning,  gaffer,"  he  said. 

Theron  looked  up  and  beheld  to  his  surprise 
the  missing  court-fool  Diogenes. 

"You  are  the  fool  Diogenes,"  Theron  said. 
"Why  have  you  come  back?    The  King  longs  for 

255 


tHE    PROUD    PRINCE 

your  head.     I  care  little  who  lives  or  dies,  save 
one,  but  fly  if  you  are  wise." 

Diogenes,  for  it  was  indeed  he,  shook  his  head. 
"Nay,  nay,  gaffer,"  he  answered.  "I  am  wise; 
I  know  my  business.  I  think  I  have  been  asleep 
in  the  green  w^ood  a  thousand  years  and  waited 
upon  by  elves  and  fairies  and  all  manner  of 
pygmies,  and  they  taught  me  the  speech  of  birds, 
and  what  the  trees  whisper  to  each  other  from 
dawn  to  dusk,  and  the  war-cries  of  the  winds, 
with  other  much  delectable  knowledge  which 
would  have  made  me  wiser  than  the  wisest — but 
now  that  I  am  awake  I  have  forgot  it  all." 

Theron  eyed  him  curiously.  This  was  not  the 
way  the  bitter  court-fool  had  been  wont  to  speak. 
"You  seem  to  me  a  changed  fool,"  he  said, 
wearily. 

Diogenes  patted  him  fondly  on  the  shoulder. 

"Set  it  down  to  hearing  birds  whistle  and 
watching  green  things  grow.  I  am  ripe  and 
mellow.  If  you  squeezed  me  dry  you  would 
find  no  drop  of  bitter  in  me.  I  bulge  with 
benevolence  like  a  ripe  fig — and  therefore  your 
lugubrious  visage  troubles  me." 

256 


IN    THE    ARENA 

Theron  answered,  heavily :  "  My  child  is  charged 
with  sorcery.  There  is  no  man  but  me  to  cham- 
pion her.  If  I  fail  to  win  the  day  she  dies  by 
fire." 

Diogenes  seemed  grieved.  "She  was  a  sweet 
lass  and  she  gave  me  sweet  milk  to  drink,  and  she 
showed  me  the  way  to  the  wonder-world  of  the 
wood.  If  I  were  something  more  of  a  fool  and 
something  less  of  a  wiseacre  I  would  champion 
her  myself."  And  he  swelled  his  lean  body  and 
strutted,  ludicrously  martial. 

"Away,  fool!"  Theron  said,  angrily,  for  the 
fantastic  figure  vexed  him. 

But  Diogenes  was  not  to  be  offended. 

"  Nay,  now,"  he  hummed,  benignly.  "  You  are 
short  with  me,  yet  my  brain  bubbles  with  all  the 
wit  of  the  elder  world.  When  I  woke  this  morn 
in  the  green  wood,  a  bird  sang  in  my  ear  and  his 
song  told  me  to  go  down  to  Syracuse  and  creep 
into  the  King's  garden;  and  because  I  am  wise 
enough  to  know  that  the  birds  are  wiser  than  I, 
why,  I  came,  but  I  did  not  think  it  was  to  see  a 
fair  maid  murdered.  I  would  have  liked  such 
a  sight  once,  but  now  I  do  not,  so  I  will  go  and 
17  257 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

sleep  m  the  rose-garden.  That  is  what  the  fairies 
told  me  to  do,  and  they  will  tell  me  when  to  wake. 
Courage,  ancient!  courage!" 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  with  his  head  cocked 
on  one  side,  eying  the  executioner  compassion- 
ately, yet  listening  with  pricked,  bat-wing  ears. 
Some  sound  startled  him,  for  he  suddenly  stirred 
like  a  startled  hare,  and,  stooping,  scuttled  with 
incredible  swiftness  into  the  shelter  of  the  royal 
gardens,  where  he  was  soon  lost  to  sight. 

Theron  sighed  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  "  The 
veiy  fool  pities  me.  I  am  grown  old  and  weak 
and  have  no  hope." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  sound  of  the  footsteps 
that  had  scared  away  Diogenes  grew  louder,  and 
Hieronymus  emerged  from  the  archway  and  came 
to  Theron. 

"Come,"  Hieronymus  said.  "Some  unfamiliar 
gentleness  in  the  King  permits  you  to  see  your 
daughter.  Go  at  once.  The  jailer  will  admit 
you." 

Theron  bowed  his  head.  "Your  blessing  and 
your  prayers,"  he  said.  Then  he  rose  and  moved 
slow^ly  to  the  archway  and  disappeared. 

258 


IN    THE    ARENA 

Hieronymus  looked  after  him  thoughtfully. 
"Oh,"  he  mused,  "that  a  poor  priest's  bless- 
ing might  be  as  potent  as  a  great  King's  curse!" 

At  that  moment  a  great  trumpet  sounded,  the 
signal  to  admit  the  people  of  Syracuse  to  the  royal 
gardens.  Hieronymus  could  hear  the  eager  shouts 
and  the  tramp  of  hurrying  feet.  Sadly  he  turned 
and  followed  Theron  to  the  cell  where  Perpetua  lay. 

The  arena  was  not  long  empty.  Soon  the  hu- 
man" flood  poured  over  its  sand,  babbling,  shout- 
ing, eager  to  get  seated. 

"Hurry,  dame,  hurry!"  cried  one  citizen  to  his 
mate.  "  'Tis  first  come  first  served,  and  there  is  a 
rare  scrambling  for  the  seats." 

"I  wish,"  grumbled  another,  "the  King  had 
given  us  leave  to  enter  the  gardens  earlier.  We 
could  have  sat  here  cosily,  eating  and  drinking 
till  the  sport  began." 

"  Nay,"  philosophized  a  third,  "  kings  have  their 
whimsies  like  the  rest  of  the  world  and  love  to 
make  folk  uncomfortable. 

"Humph!"  said  a  stalwart  fellow  as  he  sped. 
"If  I  had  an  odd  life  or  two  to  spare  I  would 
strike  a  stroke  for  the  child." 

259 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"Ay,"  grunted  his  companion,  "  and  be  damned 
for  your  pains  if  she  be  no  better  than  a  black 
witch." 

"I  cannot  believe  it,"  stalwart  said,  stoutly. 

His  companion  was  positive. 

"They  say  there's  no  mortal  doubt  of  the 
matter.  She  fondles  a  black  cat,  her  familiar, 
and  straddles  a  broomstick  for  a  sky -ride  w^hen 
the  wind  is  howling." 

A  listener  commented  briskly.  "Nay,  then  it 
is  no  worse  than  very  well  that  she  should 
die.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  abide  cats  since 
my  neighbor's  grimalkin  stole  my  sausage." 

And  so  they  hurried  on  gossiping,  a  stream 
of  humanity  climbing  to  its  appointed  places. 
Languidly  through  the  crowd  moved  Lycabetta 
with  her  women. 

"Truly,"  Lycabetta  said  to  Lysidice,  "the 
King  is  ever  a  good  friend  to  us.  We  shall 
sit  in  the  royal  quarter  and  see  as  well  as 
any  of  the  courtly  wantons.  It  is  a  warm 
day,  but  I  swear  I  shall  feel  a  cold  at  my 
heart  till  I  can  warm  my  palms  at  the  girl 
blazing." 

260 


IN    THE    ARENA 

"Have  you  no  pity  for  her?"  Lysidice  asked. 

Lycabetta  laughed.  "  Why  should  I,  you  green 
ape?  She  is  our  enemy.  If  there  were  many 
such  as  she  in  the  world  we  might  as  well  haul 
down  our  sign,  for  we  should  not  have  a  bed  to 
lie  on." 

"  'Tis  said  the  Lord  Hildebrand  is  the  accuser," 
Glycerium  observed. 

"Yea,"  Lycabetta  answered,  "and  sure  of 
victory.  I  thought  he  would  have  visited  me 
last  night." 

"He  husbands  himself  for  the  combat," 
Hypsipyle  suggested. 

Lycabetta  tapped  her  woman  in  playful  anger 
with  her  fan. 

"You  wrong  him,  minion,"  she  said.  Her  eyes 
suddenly  brightened,  for  she  saw  Sigurd  Olafson 
making  his  way  towards  her  through  the  press. 
There  was  a  look  of  constraint  in  his  blue  eyes  as 
he  greeted  her. 

"  Loveliest  lady,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  I  have 
some  unlovely  news  for  you." 

Lycabetta  raised  her  eyebrows  in  surprise.  The 
salutation  was  unexpected. 

261 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"What  grief  do  you  herald?"  she  questioned, 
with  an  air  of  unconcern. 

Sigurd  spoke  with  evident  embarrassment. 

"Lady,  the  King  commands  that  you  and  all 
your  women  return  to  Naples  with  the  first  fair 
wind." 

For  a  moment  the  words  shook  Lycabetta  and 
her  eyes  flashed  anger.  Then  instantly  she  re- 
covered her  composure.  She  knew  that  it  would 
be  useless  to  appeal  against  any  command  of  the 
King,  the  King  who  had  not  visited  her  now  for 
more  than  a  month. 

"Is  it  so?"  she  said.  "Then  be  it  so.  Naples 
or  Sicily,  what  does  it  matter  so  long  as  there  is 
sun  to  warm  the  blood?" 

The  blue  eyes  of  Sigurd  Olafson  burned  bright 
with  passion.  ^ 

"  I  will  follow  you  to  Naples,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
eager  voice. 

Lycabetta's  eyes  answered  his  passion,  Lyca- 
betta's  voice  replied  to  his  desire. 

"You  will  be  very  welcome,  blue  eyes,"  she 
promised.  "  But  to-day  at  least  we  may  stay 
and  see  the  show?" 

262 


IN    THE    ARENA 

"Surely,"  answered  Sigurd.  "Let  me  guide 
you  to  your  places.  They  are  of  the  best."  And 
he  conducted  her  and  her  women  to  the  tier 
where  their  seats  had  been  set  apart. 


XVIII 
ORDEAL  OF  BATTLE 

By  this  time  the  vast  amphitheatre,  that  was 
capable  of  seating  twenty-four  thousand  people, 
if  Syracuse  had  only  had  twenty-four  thousand 
people  to  offer  it,  had  swallowed  up  the  eager 
crowds,  and  the  arena  lay  bare,  save  for  the  little 
wooden  platform  with  its  scarlet  stain.  There 
was  a  flourish  of  royal  music.  Cries  of ' '  The  King ! 
The  King!"  ran  from  lip  to  lip;  many  soldiers 
marched  across  the  arena  from  the  royal  gardens, 
and  in  their  midst,  on  an  open  litter,  was  carried 
the  likeness  of  the  King,  attended  by  a  brilliant 
cloud  of  courtiers.  As  it  seemed  to  all  the  thou- 
sand watching  eyes,  the  King  descended  from  his 
litter  and  mounted,  amid  salutations,  to  the  en- 
closure on  the  amphitheatre  where  his  throne 
was  set  up,  and  seating  himself  upon  the  throne 
gazed  steadfastly  at  the  arena,  where  now  assistant 

264 


ORDEAL    OF    BATTLE 

executioners  were  piling  the  faggots  close  about 
the  platform. 

Not  far  from  the  King  the  court  ladies  babbled. 

"  Do  they  need  so  much  wood  to  burn  one 
little  woman?"  Messalinda  asked,  curiously, 
watching  the  executioners  at  their  task, 

Faustina  chuckled  maliciously. 

"  If  she  be  a  witch,  it  will  take  a  deal  of  fire  to 
frighten  the  devil  out  of  her." 

Soft -haired,  soft -eyed  Yolande  gave  a  little, 
delicate  shiver,  for  she  was  sensitive  and  fastidious. 

"I  hope  she  will  not  make  a  great  noise,"  she 
said. 

Faustina  reassured  her. 

"  I  do  not  think  so ;  they  say  the  smoke  will  soon 
choke  her." 

Yolande  gave  a  sigh  of  rehef  and  settled  her- 
self down  for  entertainment.  Over  in  the  royal 
enclosure  the  archbishop  of  Syracuse  turned  with 
an  obeisance  to  the  image  of  the  King. 

"  Shall  we  begin,  sire?"  he  asked,  and  the  seem- 
ing King  answered  him. 

"Is  all  ready?" 

"All,  sire,"  the  archbishop  answered. 
265 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  Let  them  begin,"  the  royal  figure  commanded. 
The  archbishop  bent  to  where  Sigurd  Olafson 
stood,  below  the  royal  enclosure. 

"The  King  waits,"  he  said.  Sigurd  instantly 
gave  the  order  for  the  prisoner  to  be  brought 
forth.  There  was  a  brief  pause,  then  a  new 
flourish  of  trumpets,  and  from  the  dark  archway, 
that  yawned  like  a  wolf's  mouth  in  the  side  of  the 
amphitheatre,  Perpetua  was  brought  in,  chained 
and  guarded,  and  led  in  front  of  the  royal  throne. 
"She  looked  very  pale,"  wrote  an  old  Norman 
chronicler,  "and  very  fair,  and  as  brave  as  a 
sainted  martyr." 

The  archbishop  of  Syracuse  rose  and  addressed 
her. 

"Woman,  you  are  charged  by  the  King's 
sainted  majesty  with  working  by  witchcraft 
against  his  sovereign  person,  delivering  him  to 
his  lips  enchantment  in  a  draught  of  seeming 
water,  to  the  hurt  of  his  body  and  the  peril  of 
his  soul.  If  you  are  guilty  and  will  confess  your- 
self, we  need  not  waste  some  precious  moments  in 
a  vain  contest  for  your  sinful  flesh." 

Perpetua  answered  very  quietly  and  very  clear- 
266 


ORDEAL    OF    BATTLE 

ly,  and  all  men  in  Syracuse  heard  what  she  had 
to  say  that  day. 

"I  am  not  guilty.  My  soul  is  as  clean  of  sin 
as  on  the  day  my  mother  gave  me  birth.  I  pray 
Heaven's  forgiveness  for  the  King." 

The  archbishop  flushed  angrily. 

"Do  not  blaspheme,"  he  commanded.  "Then 
you  persist  in  your  appeal  to  the  ordeal  of  battle?" 

"I  do  appeal,"  Perpetua  answered,  firmly, 
"hoping  that  Heaven  will  strengthen  the  hand 
that  is  lifted  to-day  in  my  cause,  which  is  God's." 

The  archbishop  frowned. 

"You  are  perverse  and  stubborn,  but  the  law 
is  plain  and  must  be  obeyed.  Call  the  King's 
challenger." 

Sigurd,  raising  his  voice,  called  loudly: 

"  In  the  King's  name  I  call  on  the  King's 
challenger  to  appear."  Rang  out  a  great  rattle 
of  trumpets,  voices  hummed  in  expectation,  and 
all  heads  turned  in  the  direction  of  another  arch- 
way in  the  amphitheatre,  from  which  it  was 
known  that  the  challenger  and  the  champion 
would  appear. 

Out  of  the  darkness,  into  the  bright  light  of  the 
267 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

arena  stepped  a  figure  all  in  armor,  with  the 
visor  of  his  helmet  down,  so  that  none  could  see 
his  face.  The  armor  was  plain;  the  shield  bore 
no  device,  but  it  was  buzzed  about  in  all  directions 
that  this  was  the  Lord  Hildebrand,  and  any  doubts 
were  answered  by  the  assertion,  patently  true,  that 
the  Lord  Hildebrand  did  not  make  one  of  the  glit- 
tering group  about  the  King.  The  archbishop 
addressed  the  new-comer. 

"Proclaim  your  purpose,"  he  commanded. 

The  challenger,  still  with  his  visor  lowered,  said 
in  a  low  voice : 

"  In  the  King's  name  I  accuse  this  woman  of 
witchcraft,  and  will  maintain  that  charge  with 
my  sword,  if  any  be  found  bold  to  challenge  it." 

The  archbishop  again  rose  and  asked : 

"  Does  any  champion  answer  on  the  woman's 
side?" 

Out  of  the  same  archway  came  Theron  in  old 
and  rusty  armor,  with  the  visor  of  his  helmet  up, 
so  that  all  could  behold  his  wrinkled,  haggard 
face. 

"I  do,"  he  cried.  "I  am  her  father,  and  I 
know  her  stainless  soul.     This  hand  that  has  so 

268 


ORDEAL    OF    BATTLE 

often  dealt  justice  to  others  may  now  do  justice 
for  itself." 

The  archbishop  again  rose,  and  spoke. 

"Then,  by  the  law,  opposer  and  opposed  must 
do  battle  to  the  death.  If  the  challenger  gain 
the  day,  his  charge  is  proved  and  the  woman 
dies  by  fire.  If  the  woman's  champion  win,  the 
woman  shall  be  counted  innocent  and  her  accuser 
shall  die  as  she  would  have  died.  Let  them 
begin." 

There  was  a  new  flourish  of  trumpets.  Then  a 
number  of  soldiers  ran  into  the  arena  and  set  up 
a  spacious  ring  of  short  painted  staves  of  wood, 
colored  white  and  red,  and  linked  together  with 
thick  ropes  of  similarly  colored  silk.  Into  this 
space  the  challenger  and  the  champion  were 
conducted  and  left  facing  each  other,  while  Per- 
petua  was  led  to  the  stake,  where  she  mounted 
the  platform  and  stood,  with  the  piled  faggots 
at  her  feet,  clasping  a  crucifix  to  her  breast. 
Father  Hieronymus  stood  with  the  assistant 
executioners  at  the  foot  of  the  platform.  Once 
again  the  archbishop  rose,  and  his  words  seemed 
the  only  stir  in  the  intense  silence. 

269 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"  Let  them  begin,  and  God  defend  the  right." 

Again  the  trumpets  thundered,  and  as  the 
sound  died  away  champion  and  challenger  en- 
gaged in  combat.  The  great  swords  gleamed  in 
the  bright  air,  fell  heavily  on  the  lifted  shields. 
All  the  spectators  held  their  breath.  No  one 
expected  the  fight  to  last  long;  and  indeed  it  did 
not  last  long.  Everybody  was  confident  that  the 
challenger  would  easily  overcome  the  aged  cham- 
pion, but  everybody's  confidence  was  ill-founded. 
After  a  few  blows  hotly  exchanged  the  sword  of 
Theron  struck  the  helm  of  his  enemy,  and  to  the 
amazement  of  the  spectators  the  King's  challenger 
reeled  and  fell  heavily,  clattering  to  the  ground. 
In  a  moment  Theron  was  over  him  with  the  great 
sword  at  the  fallen  man's  throat. 

"Yield  or  die!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  in  which 
exultation  and  astonishment  struggled  for  the 
mastery. 

The  fallen  man  propped  himself  on  one  arm. 

"I  am  defeated,"  he  gasped.  "The  maid  is 
innocent." 


XIX 
ROBERT   THE    RIGHTEOUS 

"Glory  to  God!"  cried  Theron,  and  flung  away 
his  sword.  He  turned  and  ran  towards  the  stake, 
from  which  Perpetua  was  at  once  unfastened,  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  Hieronymus  hurried  to 
the  side  of  the  fallen  man,  whose  head  was  now 
raised  on  the  knee  of  one  soldier,  while  another 
unfastened  his  helmet.  All  the  great  multitude 
in  the  arena  leaned  forward  eagerly  to  see  the 
face  of  Hildebrand.  Only  the  figure  like  the  King 
remained  unmoved  and  impassive.  But  when  the 
challenger's  helmet  was  removed,  the  spectators 
saw  with  astonishment  the  twisted  features  of 
a  face  that  they  knew  for  the  face  of  the  fool 
Diogenes. 

A  strange  murmur  of  surprise  rippled  along  the 
tiers.  Sigurd  Olafson  called  out  the  name  in 
wonder  to  the  archbishop. 

271 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"The  fool  Diogenes!" 

Theron,  leaving  Perpetua,  leaned  over  his  an- 
tagonist and  muttered,  "The  fool  Diogenes!" 

All  over  the  great  amphitheatre  the  words  ran, 
"The  fool  Diogenes!" 

The  archbishop  turned  to  the  kingly  image: 

"It  was  an  ill  chance,  sire,  that  found  you  a 
fool  for  a  champion,  but  there's  no  help  now. 
By  the  laws  of  Sicily  the  field  is  fought  and  won." 

Robert,  lying  conquered  on  the  ground,  gasped 
out  one  word: 

"Perpetua!" 

Hieronymus  beckoned  to  Perpetua,  who  came 
and  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  seeming  fool.  •  Her 
senses  were  in  a  whirl,  and,  hardly  conscious,  she 
stooped  and  listened  to  the  words  which  Robert 
whispered  eagerly  into  her  ear: 

"You  must  not  misread  me;  you  must  know 
why  I  have  done  what  I  have  done.  My  arm  was 
too  weak  to  wield  a  weapon  in  your  defence, 
but  my  vile  body  might  well  be  flung  away  to 
rescue  yours.  Hildebrand  is  dead.  Hieronymus 
found  me  a  suit  of  armor.  I  came  as  the 
challenger,  resolved  to  fall  and  die." 

272 


ROBERT   THE    RIGHTEOUS 

"I  knew  this,"  confirmed  Hieronymus;  "but  I 
was  pledged  to  keep  his  secret." 

Perpetua  looked  into  Robert's  eyes  tenderly. 
What  could  be  said  of  devotion  such  as  his? 

"You  must  not  die,"  she  whispered. 

Robert  shook  his  head. 

"The  law  demands  my  death  as  the  very  seal 
of  your  innocence.  But  it  is  better  to  die  thus 
in  your  service  than  to  live  forever  having  wronged 
you  in  a  thought." 

Fighting  emotions  swayed  Perpetua 's  soul. 
Hardly  knowing  what  she  said,  she  spoke  quickly  : 

"You  must  not  die.  Your  life  is  very  dear  to 
me.  I  love  you."  Her  cheeks  flamed  crimson 
as  she  spoke,  but  her  lips  and  her  eyes  were 
steadfast. 

Robert  shook  his  head. 

"You  could  not  love  this  monster.  You  pity 
me  and  you  call  your  pity  love." 

All  Syracuse  watched  and  wondered  at  the 
colloquy  between  the  redeemed  maid  and  the 
mysterious  fool  who  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
Lord  Hildebrand.  Now  they  saw  Perpetua  spring 
to  her  feet. 

i8  273 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

"I  love  you,"  she  said  to  Robert,  "for  I  love 
your  noble  soul." 

She  left  him  and  advanced  to  the  place  where 
the  figure  like  the  King  sat.  "King,"  she  cried, 
so  that  all  could  hear,  "give  me  this  man!" 

Instantly  the  figure  like  the  King  answered  her : 

"  He  is  yours  if  you  love  him." 

Robert  staggered  to  his  feet  and  limped  over  to 
where  Perpetua  stood. 

"I  love  him,"  Perpetua  said,  proudly. 

Robert  saw  the  eyes  of  the  kingly  likeness 
fixed  upon  him,  and  he  knew  that  they  asked  him 
if  he  was  content  to  escape  death  by  this  gate. 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  cried,  in  answer.  He  turned 
to  Perpetua.  "  I  should  be  baser  than  I  have 
ever  been  if  I  took  you  at  your  word.  Though 
no  man  may  recognize  me  for  a  king  over  men, 
at  least  there  is  one  realm  in  which  I  will  rule. 
Here  I  am  king,  and  w^hile  reason  rules  in  my 
brain  and  my  blood  runs  in  its  channels,  I  will 
live  a  king  and  die  a  king,  king  over  myself  and 
my  own  evil  passions.     Take  me  to  my  death." 

There  came  no  change  over  the  face  of  him  who 
seemed  the  King;  only  his  eyes,  terribly  bright, 

274 


ROBERT    THE    RIGHTEOUS 

were  fixed  on  Robert's  eyes  and  seemed  to  flood 
them  with  Hght.  Robert  turned  to  the  platform 
and  mounted  the  steps.  Perpetua  gave  a  cry  and 
would  have  fallen  but  that  Theron  caught  her 
in  his  arms.  Hieronymus  held  out  his  crucifix 
to  the  doomed  man.  One  of  the  executioners, 
who  had  a  torch  in  readiness,  stooped  and  applied 
its  flame  to  the  piled-up  faggots.  Red  tongues 
of  fire  licked  at  the  dry  wood. 

Even  then  it  seemed  to  Robert  as  if  again  the 
great  darkness  came  over  the  world,  a  darkness 
in  which  nothing  was  visible  save  the  shining 
shape  of  an  angel.  And  the  angel  spoke  and  the 
voice  was  the  voice  that  had  spoken  the  words 
of  doom  on  the  mountain  summit. 

"Robert  of  Sicily,  purified  as  by  fire,  be  once 
again  a  king,  be  now  and  ever  a  loyal  soldier  of 
the  living  God.  It  was  Heaven's  will  that  I 
should  do  the  wicked  deeds  you  dreamed  of.  But 
Heaven  now  annuls  them  and  they  are  as  if  they 
had  not  been." 

The  darkness  vanished,  and  Robert  found  him- 
self standing  in  the  arena,  and  he  knew  that  he 
was  his  old  self  again,  clad  in  the  garments  of  a 

275 


THE    PROUD    PRINCE 

king.  At  his  feet  the  fool  Diogenes  knelt  a 
suppliant;  the  royal  throne  was  vacant.  All  in 
the  great  amphitheatre  were  cheering,  for  they 
believed  that  they  had  seen  the  King  descend 
from  his  throne,  enter  the  arena,  and  order  the 
liberation  of  Diogenes.  And  that  belief  they 
cherished  to  the  end.  But  Robert  looked  into 
Perpetua's  eyes  and  read  there  that  she  knew 
better.     He  caught  her  hands. 

"The  htmter  wooed  you,  the  King  wronged 
you,  the  fool  served  you,  the  man  loves  you. 
Queen  of  the  world,  make  me  indeed  a  king." 

And  Perpetua  answered  him. 

"I  love  the  man." 

This  is  how  Perpetua  became  Queen  of  Sicily, 
and  how  Robert  in  his  long  and  happy  reign  won 
and  wore  the  title  of  Robert  the  Righteous. 


THE    END 


M' 


'O 


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